The Perfection of Death
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: A trip through Caroline's mind, from start to blinding finish, and how she finds her way as a vampire.  I'm going to christen this with a new term: Damroline. There, I did it.  Caroline / Damon, probably AU and slight OOC if you're really looking.
1. 1

_A/N: And this is the second time I got VD! I'm on a roll, having reconfirmed my love for Damon Salvatore and all the evil therein. A trip throuh Caroline's mind, from start to blinding finish, and how she finds her way as a vampire. Thanks to my husband for the awesome title._

_Probably AU and maybe slightly OOC? I don't care. I don't own them, I'm just a user._

* * *

I'm not a killer.

My name is Caroline Forbes and I'm not a killer.

These things float around my head, a head that was once filled with such silly thoughts and notions. None of it matters now, but I'm told to think that yes, everything can still stay the same, I just need to adjust.

Adjust? Acculturate? Agonize. I roll my eyes at Stefan Salvatore and flick my nails. "Whatever."

How can Elena stand him?

* * *

"Caroline, you _know_ what you are, so quit denying it." The elder Salvatore rolls his eyes from where he sits, blue irises drowning in golden whiskey. The glass comes to rest on the table before him. I remember being here before and I remember seeing him drink from the same type of glass.

"Screw you," is the only intelligible thing I can come up with right now. I wince as it echoes lamely between us and his answering snort makes me scowl.

He closes his eyes briefly in mock amusement and shakes his head. "Maybe later." He stands. Comes closer to me, standing toe to toe, and looks down into my eyes with the tiniest grin. "You're a _vampire_," he says smoothly, daring to reach and curl my hair behind my ears. He cups my cheek, a look so sweet and sincere that I see right through it and can hear the cut of his next words: "Won't mother be proud of her little girl."

I'm pouting. It's something I've perfected over seventeen years and I'm rather proud of it. I don't do it often anymore but when I do, I don't mess around. Outside is raining and it's pelting the glass of boarding house window. Talk about depressing. I'm stuck in the Salvatore mansion and nursing a blood withdrawal because I'm a fucking vampire because about a hundred and fifty years ago, Damon and Stefan fought over a girl that looked like Elena.

I won't say _fuck my life_ because that's so last year, but seriously…this is _bullshit_.

I can't be a vampire the way they're supposed to be because Stefan insists that I can control it. I go over this again and again in my head. I'm not Stefan and I'm not Damon. I'm not me. I don't know who I'm supposed to be or how I'm supposed to act. Matt tries his hardest to remind me, even if he doesn't realize he's doing it. I can't look at Elena because her face was worn by the one who killed me and Bonnie…Bonnie doesn't want anything to do with me and yet she watches, worries, dark eyes refusing to meet mine. She knows something and she's not telling me, and it's eating her up inside.

"I'm going out to eat," Damon calls from the hallway where he's stopped on the way out. He fiddles with the button on his shirt sleeve before cranking up one dark eyebrow over an impossibly blue eye. "I don't suppose you're allowed to come along?" he teases.

I'm already off the bed and pulling on my jacket. "I'll drive," I try, slipping into the hall and headed down the stairs.

He chuckles and follows. "Over my dead body."

I pause, hand drifting along the walnut banister and I crane my head back to look at him. "Tempting," I smile.

He hears the teasing tone and tilts his head down with a wicked grin. "I knew you'd been spending too much time with Saint Stefan." He pushes past me and plucks his keys from a dish by the door and then gestures to the garage. Deciding on the jeep he hops in and I follow. The drive is short and soon we're parking at the Grill and Damon kills the ignition.

I reach for the handle, but Damon is faster and he snatches my hand back. "Wait."

I turn and look at him expectantly.

He watches me for a moment and then rolls his eyes. "What exactly has Stefan taught you?"

"You're kidding," I flatly reply.

Damon's eyebrow creeps up again – I swear he practises that in the mirror every day – and he gives me a pointed look. "Caroline, I'm not taking you in there if you have no idea what you're doing."

I sigh and flop back into the passenger seat and hold up my hand. "The jugular is the best place to bite," I begin, counting off on my fingers. "Bite quick and sharp, without tearing. Apply minimal pressure to keep from crushing the windpipe…and two rabbits is equivalent to four squirrels."

Damon looks as though he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry and when he make a sound, it is an exasperated groan and he palms his face. "No. No, no, _no_," he insists. Then he turns to me, taking my shoulders in his hands. "First things first, jugulars are only good on forest creatures. The human body has _several_ places to bite, and many of those are a lot choicer than the jugular. Think femoral artery, brachial artery, axillary, subclavian…"

He's lost me already. I skipped health class a lot.

He drops his hand to my thigh with a smirk and I squeak as he clamps his fingers around the upper, inner part of my leg. "Femoral," he drawls with a grin. Then his fingertips trail up and with the backs he brushes the side of my breast. My breath hitches, even though it doesn't have to, and it makes Damon smirk. "Brachial," he continues. Up three inches, his eyes dropping, watching his fingers trail over the bare skin exposed by my sleeveless blouse. Lingering, he licks his lips and with his thumb he traces the arch of my shoulder where it joins with my neck. "Subclavian." His voice is little more than a whisper and he looks back up in time for me to see the blood lust darken his eyes.

I pull back with a gasp and scrabble for the door handle. I'm on the pavement, shivering in the cool damp air of autumn and a second later, Damon is on the sidewalk, moving to the front entrance of the Grill.

"Caroline," he whines impatiently. "Let's go. Lots more to learn and I'm starving."

So am I. I eye Damon closely and he does the same to me before turning once more to the Grill. Yeah. I'm hungry. But I don't know if it's for blood.

* * *

TBC


	2. 2

_A/N Really great to know I've got readers out there and to those that have reviewed, thank you! I'm almost afraid to watch the ep from last night because whenever I write stuff that's AU, the actual episode ALWAYS makes me shy away from my universe! But, I do need some Damon inspiration so...we'll see. I love the idea of Caroline and Damon together - if you think about it, they are very similar in many ways. _

* * *

"I remember what it feels like to be compelled," I volunteer before swiping Damon's scotch and attempting to steal a sip. With my new senses, the scent of the stuff is overwhelming and I make a face and grumble, "eugghh!"

"Great," he huffs, snatching the glass back and inspecting it before tossing the contents down his throat. "Maybe you can draw on your experience to compel the bartender to get you your own drink so you leave mine alone."

He's so snooty sometimes. More so than me. I mean, I know I can be stuck up but Damon Salvatore has that whole blue-blooded-silver-spoon-in-the-mouth thing down to a science. But he's got an idea and I perk on my stool, swinging my eyes around to goggle at him. "You mean I can do that?"

He smiles roguishly and licks his lips before leaning elegantly across the bar and into my space. "You, my lovely girl, can do anything. You're a vampire – and you're a knockout." He narrows his eyes playfully and his grin widens. "Double whammy."

"I don't know how…I mean…I think that's what I did to the nurse in the hospital…and to the boy at the carnival," I begin slowly, retracing my steps. At the time it had seemed so easy, like second nature. Like instinct.

Damon snorts, rolls his eyes, leans back into his chair and signals for another shot of scotch. After it's poured and he's cradling the glass gently in nimble fingers, he makes sure that there's no one in earshot. "Let me guess: another thing my darling baby brother failed to teach you."

"Well…I suppose?" I don't know. "Like I said, I think I compelled the nurse and that guy but I can't be too sure."

"Let's experiment!" Damon suggests, blue eyes sparking like a live wire. He flags the bartender down. "Can we get a…" he turns, a curious gaze on his face. "What's your poison?"

"Cosmo," I blurt, blushing as Damon wrinkles his nose.

"We'll work on that, too," he mumbles, turning back to the bartender. "A Cosmo, for the lady."

Jake, the bartender, shakes his head. "No way. She's underage. I know she's Matt's girl and I know she's barely a senior now."

Damon gives me a sidelong glance. "Caroline?"

I turn to Jake and focus on the black eyes watching me warily. "Jake," I begin, "can I get a Cosmo?"

Jake leans on the bar so that his nose is inches from mine. He gives me a lazy grin. "Sorry, babe. You're cute, but you're seventeen, and I don't want to lose my liquor licence."

So I pout. I think I've pointed out how good at pouting I really am. With a huff I turn to Damon and Jake wanders away to the other end of the bar.

"What was that?" Damon asks with a confused sneer. "I thought we were working on compelling."

"I thought we were too!" I exclaim, tossing my hands in the air.

He chuckles at my mini tantrum. "All right, all right, settle down. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" He picks up his drink and my untouched iced tea and he leads me to a small, dark table next to the stone chimney. He sets our drinks aside and leans across the table.

I'm compelled to do the same. Pardon the pun. I lean in, smelling the tang of his aftershave, the depth of the scotch, and something cold and clean.

"What do you remember feeling when I compelled you?" When I stare at him blankly, he barely registers it and tilts his head ever so slightly. "Close your eyes," he says softly, "and remember."

_

* * *

_

"What do you see?"

_Damon stood there, gently holding my hand, the tips of his fingers tracing patterns as the air around me stirred. His power was unimaginable; his very presence commanded attention from the air that surrounded him and I felt it sweep through me, clearing me of any thought and any doubt in my mind._

_"Do you yield to me, Caroline?"_

_I had no reason to be afraid of him, he wasn't going to hurt me, it was clear as day in his eyes. Oh, deep down I knew he was going to bite me but I also knew that not only would he enjoy it, but so would I._

_"Yes."_

_The word slipped out so easily and then…smooth darkness, warmth, an urgency in my veins that I had never felt before. His hands were quick, firmly planting them under my breasts, cupping them and then pressing up and back. He rattled me against the wall and my breath left me with the tiniest groan. Blue eyes gazed up from where he'd bent his head and his nostrils flared. Black eclipsed blue as his pupils widened and my throat went dry._

_His fangs snapped down, huge and viciously out of place and the blood in my veins slowed, sluggish, thick, and cold. The shock ran through me, swift as steel, and I realised then my folly. I shivered. He was a vampire. He was going to bite me. He was going to drink my blood._

_"Thank you," he whispered._

_They are like hot needles going in and the pain is sharp and then gone, a burst of white behind the eyelids replaced with euphoria. This has happened and my hands wind into the thick jet waves on his head. His thumbs roll against the very tips of my breasts as he bites the top swell of one. He shakes against me, moans hotly against my skin. I feel the strong press of his tongue, the sweet, longing suck of his lips. I press into him, rolling my hips and begging him, stop... don't ever stop._

* * *

If I could blush, I would, but the ability has been robbed of me. His grin chases my gaze and I stare at him, suddenly void of anything at all. I don't care. I could kill him, but what would be the point? I've got to learn from somebody and I'll be damned if it's going to be Stefan. Didn't I get a choice?

I get up from the table and move to the bar just slightly faster than a normal person might. "Jake," I call sweetly, and Jake turns, wide grin on his boyish face, dimples killer and honest black eyes.

"Hey gorgeous," he winks, leaning over the bar. "Who's the douchebag you're with?"

_Asshole_, I hear Damon mutter across the room. I let my smile twitch my lips and Jake thinks it's for him. I shrug. "Just a friend," I brush off. Balancing my toes on the bar that runs along the floor and leaning my elbows onto the bar, I move into Jake's space, staring him straight in the eye. I lick my lips and watch how he does the same. His eyes aren't black, they're very dark brown, like espresso, and his pupils spin wide.

"Make me a Cosmo," I drone very softly. "Extra lime."

Jake nods slowly with a deep breath. "Extra lime. You got it."

He lingers a moment longer and I am eclipsed with the scent of his skin, his blood, the detergent he's washed his shirt in, his soap, and the shot of whiskey he knocked back twenty minutes ago. Beneath it all is a lingering musky sweetness.

Jake turns back moments later, he's placing one very fine looking Cosmopolitan down in front of me, with a big twist of lime and two slices on the rim. "Thank you." I make my triumphant return to the table to see Damon brooding. "What's you're problem?"

He lifts his empty glass with a scowl. "You could have gotten me one."

I shrug and slide into the seat across from him. I could get angry with him, but that's what I would have done before this. Instead I dubiously take a sip of my drink, loving the extra lime. Damon sighs heavily and heaves to his feet. "Fine. Whatever. Are you gonna eat tonight or what?" He floats over the bar and returns with another scotch, this one a little fuller than the last.

* * *

"What about that one?"

"Ew, seriously? He's like…_thirty_." We've been playing Who's Your Happy Meal for the last hour and Damon keeps pointing out total goons and creeps saying 'what about that one?' and it's really starting to grate on me.

"Would you grow up and just _pick_ one? You're not looking for a lifelong commitment here, Caroline, you're looking for _lunch_."

I flip him the bird. "Screw you, Damon, I might be hungry but that doesn't mean I'm going to _slum_ it."

The waitress has come by with another Cosmopolitan for me (I think this is the third, but I can't be sure) and Damon pauses his retort until the nosy little brunette has left. "Sweetheart," he purrs, pushing my glass towards me before lifting his own, "you don't know how good you've got it." He winks and takes a sip. When he sets his glass down he rubs his hands together like the villain he seems to be and he suddenly seems very pleased with himself. "No more picky choosey for you, missy," he growls playfully, shaking a finger at me. "The next person who walks through that door is going to be your meal tonight, whether you like it or not."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes light up and he sits straighter. He discreetly motions to the door and murmurs: "Do you want fries with that?"

* * *

TBC


	3. 3

_A/N: Apparently, I still own nothing here. Haven't seen ep 3 yet but I'll catch up eventually. Went back and watched the first few eps of Season one purely for the Damon / Caroline interaction. Okay, mostly just for Damon. Glad I've got some loyal readers, I'm still feeling strong about this storyline, so let's see where this takes us!_

* * *

I am awake. I wasn't asleep but…I wasn't aware of anything. Now, my eyes are open and I'm staring up at the ceiling of the Salvatore's bathroom, stuffed into the tub with my legs flung over the edge. I've been tossed here. My bones feel hollow and I hurt…but it's so different. It's a ghost of the feeling. The scent of blood hits my senses and I look down to discover that I'm covered in the stuff – my new winter white cashmere sweater now red: thick, cold, _wet_ red.

My stomach rolls and I surge up, with a heaving gag.

"Relax." Damon's voice is on edge but soft.

"What happened?"

He snorts and stands over me with a grin. "Things got a little _interesting_." His eyebrow goes up as he finishes. Crouching, he is now at eyelevel with me. With his thumb he traces a slow path from the swell of my bottom lip down my chin to the hollow of my throat where he lingers down into the wet cleft of my cleavage. Before I can move he's put his thumb in his mouth and he hums at the coppery slide of the blood. "You were magnificent," he says solemnly.

I open my mouth, ready with a reply, when he's gone in a flash, so fast I still can't fully comprehend, and then I hear it – hear Stefan ask "Where is she, Damon?"

Damon does not answer but I can _feel_ him smirk and cross his arms over his chest, indifferent.

"Caroline," Stefan breathes. He's through the door, moving quickly. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I grouse, lifting myself out of the tub and standing. I pluck the front of my sweater and cringe as it comes away from my skin, half dry and clinging. I turn and crank the shower on, already shedding my top and kicking it away under the sink. My jeans are next and the fabric is stiff with drying blood. With a grunt I wrestle them off, and I turn to find Stefan still standing, still staring with a concerned frown.

"Do you mind?"

"Caroline, if he made you do something…"

"It couldn't be any worse than you creeping her out by watching her shower," Damon interjects from the open door. "Vampire or not, a girl needs her privacy."

With another withering, sorrowful gaze – seriously, why does Elena fall for this martyr crap? – Stefan turns and pushes past Damon with a warning glare.

Damon stares back, his face like stone – no smirk, no raised eyebrow, no narrowed eyes. Stefan backs down all the same, shrugging into the hall and towards his own bedroom, his older brother watching him go.

Damon looks back to me with a pensive look. "I'm sorry about tonight." He is gone and the door closes gently.

I cry alone.

* * *

There is a knock on my door hours later. I've been laying here, hair wrapped up in a towel, robe hugging my body, doing nothing.

"Are you up?"

_Perfect_. "It's late," I sigh, rolling to my side and glancing to Elena where she stands in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

"Stefan called me." Her voice is husky, emotional, but I'm not falling for it.

"Stefan needs to mind his own business." I stand and drop the robe – pure impulse. I walk, naked, unfeeling, and tread to the closet to leisurely dress. As I step into my panties and fasten my bra I realize what I'm doing and glance back to Elena. She's giving me a funny look. "Sorry," I mumble. "I've been getting these moments of pure…impulse lately." It's true – lately there have been times where I'm suddenly aware of doing something out of the ordinary, like my conscience has suddenly been shut off.

"I heard," she says cautiously. "Caroline," she begins slowly, "Stefan says you killed somebody tonight."

"Well, Stefan's right," I say thickly. With a shake of my head I stay the tears and hop into jeans and find a sweater.

Elena's gasp is loud in the stillness of the room and I turn, pulling the sweater over my head, and find her still standing in the doorway, her brown eyes glossy with tears. "Please," I mutter. "Don't pretend like you're really affected by this." I push past her and move into the hall.

"Caroline!" Her hand grasps mine but she snatches it back when I turn and stare through her. I can feel it – I know there's no light in my eyes like a living person might have. "I…I do _care_. And so does Stefan. Don't you see that you don't have to be like…" She waves her hands in an all encompassing gesture.

"Be like _what_, Elena? Be like a vampire? Or be like Damon?"

Her mouth claps shut at my outburst and she looks away, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "This can't be easy for you."

"There's the understatement of the century," I grouse, moving to the stairs. Elena follows, and her footsteps are light behind me.

"Stefan can help you – he can show you how to lead a life that's not so…"

"So dark and evil?" Damon purrs from the landing. He catches my gaze before he looks over my shoulder to Elena. "Please. The only thing that Stefan can show her is how to kill bunnies."

"It's better than him showing you how to kill people," Elena argues, trying to ignore Damon.

"Well, I think," Damon begin with a saucy tone, "that we should let _Caroline_ decide who's going to show her the ropes." He stands next to me with a protective arm around my shoulders and I can't help but feel like he's mocking me with every word. Still, he makes sense.

Elena sighs at Damon and looks back to me. "You don't want him teaching you," Elena points out with a scowl at the elder Salvatore.

I glare at her. "You don't know _anything_." I shrug out of Damon's embrace, fed up with both of them for the time being. At this point, Stefan's company is looking better than any comfort Elena may be trying to extend or any deviant plot that Damon may be devising. I leave the two of them in the hall and search out Stefan.

* * *

"Oh my _god_, this is the most _vile_ thing I've ever had in my mouth," I drone after swallowing the mouthful of fox blood. I try not to wretch.

"I doubt that," Stefan muses from my elbow. "You have kissed Damon before."

I shudder. "Don't remind me." I toss the limp, furry little body to the forest floor and glance back at Stefan. "And you do this every _day_? How can you stand it?"

Stefan shrugs. "You get used to it. Sometimes you get lucky and come across deer. Herbivores don't taste as gamey as things that are on a diet of meat."

"So I'm reduced to feeding off of Disney characters?" I deadpan, nodding at the rabbit clutched in his fist. "Poor Thumper," I say softly before looking back at Stefan.

To my surprise, he grins, shrugs, and lifts the thing to his mouth. He drinks with his eyes closed and when he's done his mouth is shiny and red. He casts the body aside. "It's easier than you think. You don't have to kill people to survive."

We walk in the dark woods for a spell, and the leaves crunch beneath our feet. It's a few days after my first hunting trip with Damon. The elder Salvatore has made himself rather scarce and Stefan has taken the opportunity to take me out with him and give me a few pointers.

"How long have you done this?" I ask after a while.

"A long time," he answers. "Look, Caroline, I can't tell you what's right for you. But I would hope that you do consider the consequences of the alternative."

"What about the consequences of this?"

Stefan curls an eyebrow up in a manner that screams _Damon_ and I'm suddenly struck by family resemblance. Damon and Stefan aren't just _vampires_ – they're _brothers_. They have to share some qualities. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, there has to be a drawback to the…vegan diet. For starters, don't you feel like you're one of those wimpy sparkling vampires?"

His face goes dark and he sneers. "Don't compare me to Edward Cullen."

I shrug, letting a tiny smile lift my lips. Stefan can't help but return it. "Okay, besides that. I mean, aren't you denying yourself something that you inherently need?"

"Animal blood keeps you alive," Stefan begins slowly, "but it can dull your abilities as a vampire. I'm not as strong as Damon, or as fast, and it takes longer to heal."

I turn my nose up. "Well _that_ sucks."

"Sometimes," Stefan replies. His tone is still light. "But it beats feeling guilty every time you feed."

Ah, there's the famous Stefan martyrdom. "Guilt is self inflicted," I point out with a shrug as we weave through the trees.

"You've been spending way too much time with Damon."

"Funny," I say as the Salvatore house comes into sight, "he said the same thing about you."

Maybe I'd be better off on my own?

As if he can hear my thoughts, Stefan speaks again. "You need someone to show you the ropes. I can show you this. Damon can show you another path but…you'll need to make a choice. I hope it's the right one."

* * *

TBC


	4. 4

_A/N: Double update. I felt inspired, thought you deserved a little reward of build up before the delivery of my first lemon. That's right, it's building, and I've got a bit of a treat, but you'll be patient with me. Ah, the warring conscience. Will it ever be satisfied? Probably not. Humans or bunnies, as one faithful reviewer mused. Sorry to disappoint another, but the 'Happy Meal' doesn't have a name because one isn't required and Caroline would like to keep it that way._

* * *

I head back to the mansion, leaving Stefan out to rustle up more critters. The lights are off but there is a fire burning in the great hearth of the parlour. Damon's home, stretched out on the couch, a glass of scotch clutched in his hand. I head for the kitchen, eager to get the taste of magpie off my tongue. Feathers and fur have been in my mouth for the better part of an hour.

"Are you ignoring me for a reason?"

He sounds petulant and I can hear the pout of his lips. Stefan may brood but Damon did his time, too, and when he did it was so melodramatic. "No," I answer truthfully. He's the one who's been scarce lately. I tell him as much.

"I was home last night," he pointed out cockily.

"Yeah, with another woman," I point out.

He sits up and gives me a puzzled look. "Well, you could have joined us," he smirks.

I sigh. What was it with Damon that made him take everything over the top? "Good night, Damon."

He seems offended at my dismissal and he surges from his spot and circles round the couch to appear before me. "Something's wrong," he says softly, looking into my eyes. His nose twitches and he leans in a little closer, tilting his head. I freeze, my mouth has gone dry, and he suddenly clutches my arms, his fingers curling into the leather of my jacket. His hips press mine back until I collide with the wall and he inhales long and deep, burying his nose along my jugular and taking a path up to my ear. A second later he leans back enough to look me in the eye and his tongue glides over his lips. I mimic him, waiting…

"You _reek_ like rodents," he whispers. He moves back, shoves me away, and chuckles.

My hands land on his shoulders and the growl behind my lips makes him grin. I shove him back, putting everything I am behind it, and he sails back – literally, through the air – and crashes into the plaster wall, making it crack and crumble.

He is stunned for just a moment, and then he peels himself out of the wall, brushing drywall from his hair. When he looks back at me his smile is beaming and there is a spark of mischief and mirth in his eyes. "_Wow_," he purrs. He applauds for a moment, and then slows down so much it suddenly mocks me. "That was impressive for a beginner – and one that's consumed _nothing_ but bunny blood for the last few weeks."

And then _I'm_ sailing backwards, his hands clutching the front of my jacket and swinging me in the process, making me spin back towards the parlour. I crash into the long table before the fire and the thing splinters apart beneath me, Damon's laughter filling the room. He stands over me and inspects me. "If you insist on feeding off of rodents," he sneers, his eyes burning bright red with the blood lust. It makes my own surge to the fore and I growl before he continues, "then you'll never grow up to be big and strong." His eyes widen with mock concern and he clucks his tongue before bending and gripping the front of my jacket again. With a smooth, quick move he hauls me up effortlessly.

"And it's such a shame, really."

"What is?" I ask hesitantly.

"You have so much potential, Caroline. I saw it the first moment I laid eyes on you." I didn't like his tone. I didn't like the way he was looking at me, like he knew some pivotal secret about me, like he was in on a private joke. His eyes flicked over me once, from head to toe, before coming back to look me in the eyes. "Some of us adapt to being a vampire," he says. "And some of us are _made_ for it. Guess which category you're in?"

"Don't say that," I mutter, suddenly wanting to be as far from him as possible. I back towards the stairs and Damon advances.

"Why not? It's the truth. Stefan will never admit to it, but he sees it as plainly as I do, sweetheart. You will make a beautifully horrific vampire. Your natural bitchiness makes you vicious and you're stubborn. Makes for a great predatory instinct." He takes three more steps and closes the distance between us and his hand comes up, trailing the backs of his fingers over my cheek before he cups my between steely thumb and forefinger. He draws me near, close enough to kiss once more, and breathes across my lips: "You're my best fucking mistake by far."

And there it is: that switch, that one that turns the humanity off and on. My last question before leaving Stefan had been _Why is Damon the way he is?_

_"It's something inside. A feeling…or lack there of. It just makes you…well, void of anything." Stefan stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked towards the mansion._

_"So he doesn't feel anything?" I found that hard to believe. Damon was a myriad of emotions when he wanted to be, anything from ridiculously sweet and charming to downright treacherous.._

_"Oh, no, he feels," Stefan assured. "We all feel," he continues. "It's that little shred of humanity that we all possess, that we can all maintain. It's just a question of whether or not you let it show."_

"Why the long face, sweetheart?' The coolness in Damon's voice brings me back to the parlour and he's staring at me with an inquisitive grin. "Are you really surprised that I would be less of a saint than, well, Stefan?" He smirks and shoves me back by my face.

"I _hate_ you," I sneer. I do. Don't I? It's all too consuming, I don't know whether to kiss or kill this fucker, and it's tearing me up on the inside.

"Oh, sure, you say that _now_," Damon begins. "I'll bet money that you'll be singing a different tune soon enough, sweet Caroline."

"Fuck you."

"That can be arranged." He checks his watch then and raises his eyebrows like he's really concerned by the hour. "Ooh, I'm late!" He claps his hands together. "Big date, you know. I'm meeting a librarian at a bar up in Atlanta. You should come."

I'm already storming up the stairs and he's watching me, amused with me once more, and his laughter follows me. "I'm so _not_ having any sort of threesome with you."

"What if we found you your own date? Lots of college guys, lots of college guys drunk and looking for some high school tail…you'd do well, Caroline."

His words were already drawing pictures in my mind, flashes of what could be, heartbeats and pulses and everything fresh, warm, and bloody. I felt my throat dry and ache and Damon became darker, his nature pushing to the fore as well. "Stop it," I gasped, the words rattling dryly.

"_Why_, Caroline? Does it bother you?" His tone is soft again, agitated and hoarse, and I can see him warring with his thoughts. "It swells in you, doesn't it?" Up the steps, one, two, three, and I don't bother trying to stop him, and he nears me again. "Behind your teeth and between your thighs?"

I slammed my eyes shut as if it would make me deaf. As if it would make me suddenly go numb, not be able to feel every whisper and sigh of every word he was saying. "_Stop_ it, Damon."

"You can feed without killing humans."

Stefan had told me as much just weeks before. If there was one thing I had learned about the Salvatore brothers in my recent time at the boarding house was that their views were very different on merely every aspect of being a vampire. It seemed like they couldn't agree upon anything – Stefan refused to use any of his power unless necessary, and usually only for something heroic, and most often directed towards Elena. Damon, on the other hand, used it when it suited him best, to get what he wanted – and really, what was wrong with that?

I've paused on the steps and open my eyes and look up at him. "I can't make you choose your path, we've established that. But…before you turn your back on what it actually means to be a vampire, don't you think you should experience it?" He sounded almost enthusiastic, and there was something glittering in his eyes that stirred more than just my blood. "You know," he murmurs. "Make an educated choice."

Was I actually considering this? "And I don't have to kill anyone?" Apparently, I _am_ considering this.

Damon shakes his head. "I _promise_."

_That_ makes me laugh. "Right."

He shrugs, but doesn't confirm or deny it. "Atlanta. I'm already running late. You in?"

"Can I drive?" I try again.

"_No_," he grouses.

Asshole. I'm back moments later with my bag, a handful of tiny outfits stuffed in next to my emergency road trip makeup kit.

"You were already packed?"

I shrug and head for the door. "Sophomore year during spring break we made an impromptu trip up to Virginia Tech. We ended up staying for three days at a frat house."

"Yeah, _so_ not happening," Damon grunts, pulling my free hand and dragging me out the door – not like I was kicking and screaming.

* * *

"Keep your eyes on the road," I scold from Damon's back seat. He's clipping at seventy-five, ready to compel any officer that might pull him over, but the entire time he's been sneaking glances at me by way of the rear view mirror. Thirty miles outside of Mystic Falls it had come to my attention that I was still wearing the same outfit I had while hunting with Stefan.

"I could really use a shower," I say as I shimmy out of my jeans, sliding down along the seat lengthwise and kicking my feet out.

"Uh huh," Damon grins, smirk flashing.

"The _road_, Damon." I wait until he's looking back out the windshield and then using my best vamp speed, unsnap my bra and fumble in the dark with the clean strapless one I had tucked in my bag.

"You're killer, Caroline," he sighs, leaning an elbow up against the side window and reaching for the radio knob with his free hand. He clicks on the radio and the Arctic Monkeys fills the car at a low volume.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," I sigh with mock sweetness. Finished with my bra I pull out a clean pair of jeans and wiggle into them, tugging the tight denim up my thighs. I perch my bare toes on the roof of the Camaro and stretch, cursing and trying not to rip them.

The car lurched and I looked up. Damon was half turned around, his eyes barely on traffic, his eyebrow raised as I pulled off an impressive 'wild thing' in the backseat of his car, one leg in my jeans, and one leg – the leg closest to him – still bare. "Jesus, Damon! The _road_!" I yell.

He snaps out of whatever trance he was in and cranes back to the traffic with a soft curse. He snags the wheel back and comes back over from the shoulder. Then he starts to chuckle. "Women do the craziest shit to look good," he muses.

"Yeah, well, half the time, we're doing it for men," I sass back, finally getting my jeans on and fastening the button. I find my plain white t and throw that on, too. Clutching my high-heeled suede boots, I clamber back into the passenger seat.

I glance at Damon as I slide into the seat and he sneaks another glimpse, up and down, and then quickly back to the road. A grin splits his face. "You look good," he muses. "Less cutesy. Older. Must be the company you're keeping."

"Yes, that's right Damon, my autumn 2010 fashion sense comes from hanging out with you." But there's a smile behind my words. Egotistical jerk.

"Nah, nothing's different," he says. "You're still as bitchy as ever."

"Jerk," I mutter.

"Brat," he comes back.

We share a small laugh in the dark and the Georgia highway flies by, brighter than ever in the late night.


	5. 5

_A/N: It's coming, I promise! Citrus Island Ahoy! Thanks again to all, I own nothing. Not yet, anyway._

* * *

"Okay, this one is easy. All you have to do is act really bubbly to my creepy drug dealer and we'll have these little raver freaks eating out of our hands…" Damon frowns at his analogy and shakes his head. "Or…us eating out of their necks."

I make a disgusted face. "Don't remind me."

"Oh, come _on_. This will be fun. Here, just follow my lead."

And so I trot behind Damon across the parking lot towards the large tent that his been erected for a rave party in the industrial park. The music is loud, thumping heavily, and lights flash at nauseating speed. I can smell them already, dozens of them, all milling around, smelling like sweat, smelling like Rev and Monster and blood and sweat. I duck my head as the latter scents hit me, the blood stuffing itself in my nostrils and clouding my vision with a rank spike of bloodlust.

"Relax," I hear Damon murmur as he approaches a group of four or five teenagers. "Hey, you guys wanna buy some E?"

A few of them wave us off with casual 'no thanks' but two of them stick around, chatting up lazily with Damon as he fumbles in his pockets. "You guys on anything right now?" He asks conversationally.

"We did a _mess_ of shrooms at my brother's place before we came here," one of them said, the shorter one with the shaved head.

"Yeah, but it's been really hard to score anything good lately," the other one says. He's taller, more of the high school jock or something, but he's a little empty in the eyes.

"Oh, well, you guys are in for a _treat_. Caroline, sweetie, tell these boys how good this E is."

That's my cue, that and Damon smiling at me fondly, as if there's nothing wrong with what we're doing: baiting humans for the purpose of feeding. "It's great," I gush, pushing back the ache between my teeth. The lie is thick and sweet, just like they'll be, and I glance to Damon for a second before looking to the boys in front of us. "Really, really great." I nod towards a darker, more secluded spot in the parking lot. "You interested?" I ask sweetly, turning on the charm.

"Definitely," the bald one grins, pulling his buddy along. Damon brings up the rear, and I can feel him smiling behind me.

* * *

The blood is heady, laced with alcohol and something else more toxic, and it races through my veins. "Shit," I murmur, sliding back against the wall, my eyes fluttering closed at the tiny sparks of energy that are shooting across my skin.

"I know, right?" Damon husks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and landing on the bricks beside me.

Together we watch the kid slump dreamily into his friend, the two of them laced tightly with ecstasy and vodka and Red Bull, and now we're swimming in it, full, sated, and delightfully cranked. "So now what?' I breathe, rolling to lean on my shoulder, facing Damon, fascinated with his cheekbones. The shadows cut and curve along his bone structure – has he always been this sexy?

"Now," Damon drawls, tilting his head back before stretching his arms overhead. "Now…we have some _real_ fun." He's practically giggling, giddy like the little boy he might have once been, and his cheeks are flushed, his eyes are dark, and he steals my hand and drags me out of the alley and back into the flush metropolis of Atlanta.

* * *

"Of course, Dr. Salvatore. The Extreme Wow Suite* is ready right away."

I hear the front desk clerk's voice and glance at Damon who is standing beside me, compelling the help to ensure a good night's sleep.

"Doctor?" I mutter, turning to follow the bell hop to the elevator.

"Yes, I have a lucrative cosmetic surgery practice that allows me to live like the rich and famous," he murmurs dryly as we wait for the elevator.

"Aren't you rich, though?"

He shrugs. "Why pay for it when I don't have to? Remember, Caroline: vampire," and he points to his chest. "Not exactly known for being honest."

"Were you a liar when you were human?"

He's turned back to watch the numbers on the plate of the elevator light up, counting down. "Hmm," he muses silently. "Probably," he finally answers with a shrug. The doors open. "After you, my dear."

The doors close and we begin the ascension.

"You know, I was thinking," Damon suddenly says in the silent car, turning to me. "We should hit a club later. Look for another victim. Maybe even kill someone. What do you think?"

My eyes widen at his choice of conversation and I glance to the bellhop who has suddenly gone stiff-spined. His ear is turned just barely towards us.

_What the fuck_? I mouth at Damon.

The smug asshole shrugs with that elegant tip of his shoulders and he grins even wider. "Yeah, seeing as how you enjoyed sucking the blood out of that one kid tonight – geez, how old was he, anyway? Sixteen? Younger every time, I swear. You know, if you keep this pattern up, the cops will catch on."

The bellhop clears his throat uncomfortably and sneaks a quick glance back over his shoulder. Damon's gaze snaps to him. "Can I help you?" he deadpans.

"No!" The bellhop squeaks and turns back to the doors.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss, barely audible to the human ear.

"Having some fun." He winks and then sobers a little. "All we have to do is glamour him before he goes back down." He looks up as the car comes to a stop. "Ah!" he says excitedly. "Here we are. Come on, sweetheart, I think there's still blood in your hair and I see a toothbrush in my future." And with that, he claps the bellboy on the shoulder and steps out. "He's all yours," Damon offers, stepping out of the car.

"Shit!" I squeak, turning back to the bellhop. The guy looks like he's going to throw up and shit his pants all at once and I reach up to my hair, suddenly worried that there really is blood there.

To my dismay, my hand comes away streaked in the stuff. The bellhop gasps and my mouth waters, wanting nothing more than to lick my palm clean and then suck the fucking bellhop until he's a dry husk.

"Think about the elevator opening in the lobby with a dead body inside. This would be one hell of a short vacation," Damon drones with boredom. "Compel him and hurry up – they've got macadamia nuts in the Munchie Box."

My hand clamps onto the bellhop's shoulder. No time for anything fancy; I search for that thread of will and snap it. "You brought us up to the room. Nothing strange happened. The ride was silent."

"Nothing strange happened. It was silent the whole way up."

"And you got a good tip," I add, holding my hand out to Damon expectantly.

"What? No way, I'm not tipping him."

"Oh, come on, it will make the story better," I say softly. The frayed strands of the bellhop's will start to curl towards each other.

"Just tell him I didn't tip," Damon whines.

"He'll think you're an asshole," I argue.

"I _am_ an asshole."

I snap my fingers and the emergency buzzer for the elevator doors starts to go off. "Better hurry up with that tip, _Doctor Salvatore_."

Damon stuffs a bill into my hand and I glance down – a ten. Not bad. I tuck it into the bellhop's hand. "Have a good night," I chirp, stepping out of the elevator.

"You too," the bellhop murmurs slowly, stepping back in. "Thanks!" he calls out brightly, leaning out the door with the ten in his hand. He gives a small salute and lets the doors close, leaving Damon and I in the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" Damon pouts, sauntering to the end of the hall.

"That was me having fun," I mock. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what? The elevator?" he fits the keycard into the door we've stopped in front of and the lock clicks open. He swings open the double doors to show off the space.

"Wow," I murmur.

"_Extreme Wow_," Damon corrects. "That little stunt back there was a test," Damon informs, shrugging out of his leather coat and tossing it onto the waiting couch in the lounge area.

"Did I pass?"

"What did you learn?"

"That you're a jerk?"

"Clearly I have more work to do," Damon grumbles. His blue eyes light up as he spies the bar and he busies himself finding a glass and a small bottle of scotch.

I grin at his exasperated tone and meet him at the bar. "I got it," I say seriously this time. "You wanted to see me compel someone for something other than blood."

And with that little admission, Damon smiles, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the counter. "I'm impressed."

"So, I passed," I conclude.

Damon tips his head in salute. "Admirably."

"Good," I sniff. "Now, where's the shower?"

* * *

* The _Extreme Wow_ suite actually exists at The W Hotel Midtown in Atlanga, GA. Google that shit.

Goodnight. And TBC


	6. 6

_A/N Okay, so it's not a FULL ON lemon like I usually write but I can't just throw Caroline and Damon into the sack without some preamble. Do flashbacks count for lemons? Dreams? Shower scenes? Whatever. Just read it, please and thank you, and I've got a few more of the citrus sweets just waiting to be posted._

_

* * *

_

Being a vampire heightens all senses

.

For once, Stefan wasn't bullshitting me. The shower is pure bliss, hot, cascading down my back and soaking my hair. I watch as the red-tinged water glides down my body – so pale now, and after dropping almost two hundred bucks a month on tanning – and it swirls in the pristine white tub before it slips down the drain.

The scent of the hotel shampoo is delectable; lemongrass and jasmine, and washing the blood from my hair feels incredible. I'm lost in the motions, lather, rinse, repeat; so lost, in fact, that I don't register that Damon's in the bathroom until he speaks.

"So what else do you remember about me compelling you?"

The soap runs into my eyes and stings and I sputter. "What?" I rub furiously, startled by him and his question.

"You know," he drawls, and I just know he's doing that thing with his eyes where he narrows them and purses his lips. "When I compelled you? You did more than just let me drink from you."

I know. Oh, do I know and do I remember. It comes vividly in the small hours of night when I think I'm dreaming but really, it's just memories replaying in my mind like a skin-flick: tousled dark hair, broad shoulders, insistent hands moving my hips and urging me and his whiskey low voice, telling me to come because he's going to.

"I'm trying to forget." It even sounds like a lie to _me_. And Damon knows this because his deep chuckle rumbles around the marble and tile.

His outline appears on the other side of the glass doors and before I know it, he's slid the shower door open so that he can gawk at me while trying to look hurt.

"What the hell!" I screech, trying to slam the door shut.

"Get over it," Damon mutters, pulling his shirt up and over his head. His jeans are shucked and his boxers seem to disappear and my eyes follow the path, slipping over his abs, the dark trail of fine hairs below his navel, down, and down some more… My eyes slam shut with a gasp; my body goes rigid, and Damon steps into the oversized stall behind me, reaching for the soap. "You know, you were more a lot more relaxed the last time we were naked together," he points out as he lathers up.

I'm huddled under the shower head, glaring daggers at him as he scrubs serenely. "Maybe that's because I was doing it against my will," I hiss. "Now would you get out of here?"

"No," Damon simply answers, soaping his chest. "And I highly doubt you do anything totally against your will, Caroline. I may have compelled you to entertain the idea, but once you had your clothes off, you took the lead. Trust me, I can tell the difference between compelled sex and willing sex." His voice lowers with his next words and his blue eyes go smoky. "You were willing. Very wet and very willing."

"You're a pig," I huff, turning my back to him and lifting my face to the spray.

Cold, deft fingers clamp onto my hips and he yanks me to him, my back sliding up his soapy chest and his thighs pressing against me. "Guess you like rolling around in the mud," he growls. I spin in his arms, ready to tear a strip off of him and slide easily in his embrace until my breasts are smashed against his chest and his lips are scant inches away from mine. "What do you say, Caroline? Want to get dirty with me?"

"Well I'm certainly not going to get _clean_," I drawl with heavy sarcasm.

Damon smiles and places a quick peck on the end of my nose. "Turn around and I'll wash your back. Let's see how clean we can get you before things get messy."

My cell phone goes off in the other room and I jerk back from Damon's slowly descending lips. I move, faster than I think I do, but Damon is faster because he's _older_ and he catches my shoulder, pulling me flush against him once more. "Leave it," he mutters softly, bending to my lips again.

"I have to…it might be my mom…"

"Caroline," Damon sighs. "Vampire." And he points to me as he says it. "Parents no longer rule your world."

I leave him under the water.

* * *

It's not my mom, though I kind of wish it was. No, it's Elena, her number flares up on the digital screen, and I flip it open. "What," I drone.

"Are you all right?" Stefan asks quickly, obvious concern making him sound like an after school special.

"Yeah," I say with a 'duh' attitude. "We're fine. We're in Atlanta. Why?"

"The coffee table is completely destroyed and the crack in the plaster is compromising a load bearing beam in the house," Stefan rattles off. "Wait, what are you doing in Atlanta?"

"Bonding," I state matter-of-fact-ly. He doesn't need to know that Damon almost kissed me in the shower and I almost let him.

"Where's Damon?"

I open my mouth to answer but the phone is snatched away. I gasp and look to Damon who is standing in the hotel room dripping water all over the carpet, a barely-there towel clinging to his lean hips. "Hello, brother," Damon purrs, winking at me and then snapping the towel off.

I feel my eyes grow wide and he chuckles with a smug grin as he continues to talk complacently with Stefan, totally at ease with his nudity.

I'm trying to be just at ease but…there's a reason why I fell so hard for Damon. Hell, _anyone_ could fall for him and I wouldn't blame them and I wouldn't blame it on being a vampire. Damon is, for lack of a better term, nicely put together. I watch as Damon wanders around the room, carrying the conversation with Stefan.

Vampire hearing is a wonderful thing:

"You have to come home."

"Hmmm," Damon purrs, casting me a wicked grin before turning back to Stefan. "And why would that be?"

"Because she's not safe there," Stefan hisses.

"She's with me," Damon pouts. "I think that's pretty safe."

"Damon, I've already told you – she's not a puppet. She's not your toy, or your plaything, or a new puppy to train."

"But…isn't that…what you're trying to accomplish? Honestly, Stefan, what you're doing is just cruel. I mean, not even teaching her the basic skills to survive – compulsion, feeding, hunting…you're setting her up for failure," Damon advises, much like a teacher might scold a misguided parent.

"Just bring her home."

"Nope!' Damon chirps brightly. "In case you haven't noticed, it's almost sunrise. Not nearly enough time to drive home – you don't want me brining sweet Caroline home in a sandwich bag, do you?" Damon pauses, listening to Stefan's silent reply. "Didn't think so. Look, I'd love to stay and chat but I've got a hot date. Say hi to Elena for me, will you?"

He hangs up and looks at me. "Well _that_ was fun," he smirks. "Anyway," he begins, the cocky, mocking chuckle bubbling up. He was always that _guy_ that asshole guy, the triple threat: dangerously handsome, smart, and a vampire. "Like I was telling Stefan," he begins, waltzing to where he's laid his jeans out. "I have a date," he announces, pulling his zipper up. My gaze lingers, trailing over the stiff denim of the fly, the silver button that held the two sides of the black wash denim snugly about his hips.

"_Ahem_," he coughs pointedly.

I've been caught ogling Damon Salvatore. _Again_.

"You know," he begins with that smirking tone, "vampire on vampire sex is _very_ hot. I think you'd like it. Care to…?" He gestures at the bed.

I can only gape at him, blinking, and the deep rumble of his laughter jolts me. "Good night, Caroline," he says with a hurried grin. "Sweet dreams."

_

* * *

_

Lie back.

She was wearing a red dress, the thin strap falling down her delicate shoulder. He had her pressed into a bed, soft and big, in a dimly lit room. Her room; it smelled like her perfume, golden and warm and like spice and citrus, like Caroline.

She smelled like me.

But she looked like Wendy. I didn't know who Wendy looked like, but she was a redhead. Her auburn waves fell about her shoulders and Damon twisted them in his fingers as he pushed her hips down with his and sank his lips to hers. His eyes closed. Should have found a blonde.

_Please_, she whispered.

She sounded like me. Like that night, that first night when Damon had kissed his way down throat, lazily and wet and hot, too. He went that way, sliding his chin and his nose down her torso to her hips, licking a little swath of skin under the sides of her panties. He breathed against the fabric covering her, pressed against it with his tongue with a groan. He rolled his blue eyes closed in bliss and a second later he was back hovering over her.

"Caroline, he had growled playfully." "Do you want me to eat your pussy?"

My breath shuddered out of my lungs. "Ye-yes-ss." My hands had clutched at his shoulders, whimpering, pleading, blinking big blue eyes up at him.

_Up at me_.

But he doesn't ask her to eat her pussy. He just wants the blood. He smells the blood, hears the blood, and has to have it, has to rip her open and drink it so he can _taste_ it, hot copper and molasses, feel it like brandy on his tongue, full and sweet and flowery. And he wants to see it drain from her neck to splash across those pretty, pretty breasts which are really quite lovely, but not quite as lovely as Caroline's.

I have perfect breasts, just a handful for him, please, and topped with sweet, plump little rosy brown nipples that just begged to be sucked and bitten up between his teeth, rasped at with the tip of his tongue because, he had discovered, that made my pussy gloriously wet.

Is he thinking of me?

I remember as if I was him and I see what he saw and what he sees.

He is savage when he bites into her and the taste of it bursts on my tongue. The ache between my thighs is unbearable. I want him. I want him want him want him. My fingers slip between my thighs and sure enough I'm ready, obscenely so. Hurriedly I find my clit and roll it between my fingers, pushing my head back to the pillows with a deep groan. My hips bounce and his name rattles off of my tongue into the dark of the hotel room.

A sudden pulse of lust rolls through me and I feel like he's right _there_ again, I can see his dark head between my thighs, blue eyes blinking up at me as he sucked and licked and kissed every inch of me. I can feel his dark hair snarled between my fingers as I tug and beg. He had been fascinated with my reaction, citing he'd never known a girl to like having her pussy eaten quite like me and that he'd gladly do it over and over again.

_Care for an encore_?

He glanced down at her, limp and in shock, laying on the cool sheets of her bed. Silly girl – inviting a vampire in, and a stranger at that. He'd laid it on thick but I feel she got the short end – I mean, he didn't even have sex with her.

**Don't remind me**, Damon growled.

He could hear me?

**Every. Single. Moan.**

* * *

FUCK!

The room is silent. The air doesn't even stir – no sound, save for the hum of the mini fridge, the couple next door, the cleaning lady down the hall. Safe, in the _Extreme Wow_ Room, alone. It is just past sunrise, I can tell by the light coming in under the curtains and the heaviness in my veins.

And then the door clicks open and I flatten myself to the bed, slamming my eyes shut and holding my breath, even though I don't need to. Damon walks in, the scent of blood thick all over him, and he moves about the suite. From the sounds of it, he is undressing and then the bed shifts next to me as Damon slides under the sheets. Seconds later he stills and he sleeps.

My eyes are wide open.


	7. 7

_A/N: AH HA! You have stumbled upon Chapter 7! You didn't think I would leave it with that luke warm lemon, did you? You did? Oh. My apologies. It didn't have nearly the scorch factor that this part does. Hope you enjoy - and thanks for coming by again!_

* * *

I realize I've slipped another notch downwards as the week goes on. The things I'm feeling on human blood is unreal and it's like a drug. It's like the Salvatore brothers said: you don't have to kill someone to feed. And I don't have to do it every day. Damon has a connection at a blood bank and it's like he's Jeremy Gilbert shelling out a dime bag as he passes my locker, handing me a book that I had 'forgot' while studying with Elena. Damon slides blood bags to me under the kitchen table, spikes my coffee when Stefan's not looking, and on a few occasions, I've joined him in the study, feet on the table, staring into the fire. Damon pours the blood, cold but still satisfying, and I remember the old adage: the first one is free, but the next one will cost you.

The one after that will, too.

Stefan smells it on me the morning we came back from Atlanta. "I can't stop Damon, Caroline, but I will stop you."

I ignore him.

He tries a different tactic. "Every taste will take you further away from who you are."

That was Monday. Tuesday didn't go much better, with Stefan wearing a path in the carpet between the parlour and the door. He wasn't going to let me out of his sight and when Damon finally came home, Stefan made sure that we weren't alone together. He was concerned, he had explained, that Damon was taking me down a dark path that I didn't have to go down.

I was concerned that Stefan was turning into a majorly creepy vamp keeper and that he had to relax. "Besides," I shrugged. "you were friends with Lexie and _she_ drank human blood."

"That's different," Stefan argued.

"How?" I challenged.

"She's not…"

"Not what? Friends with Damon? 'In league' with him?" I trailed off in a spooky voice. "Please." I rolled my eyes.

Wednesday came much the same, this time with Damon slamming the study door in his face as we smoked cigars and played canasta. We enjoyed the successfully Stefan-free day.

Today is Thursday – Thursday morning, to be exact, and if I had been in school, I would have been writing my geometry mid term. I wrinkle my nose at the thought of poor Bonnie having to write it but then shrug – she's a whiz at math, so she'll do fine. Elena will have English and Matt will be in his free period – either catching up on his law homework or working out. We'd meet at lunch and eat… Thursday… Thursday was pizza day. I think. It had been a long time since I'd gone to school.

Hell, it had been a long time since I'd gone _anywhere_ during the day. I'm so bored but sleep is not an option. I'm finding myself stumbling through Damon's mind when I close my eyes – if he's feeding, if he's fucking, I see it. The dream has startled me in ways I don't know if I'm ready to deal with. Damon used me, drank my blood, used me for sex, and I let him. Half the time I hadn't been compelled and the things I let him do to me came back in hot, blinding memories whenever I slept. I've slowly but surely been depleting Damon's stash of blood and whiskey and I know it's starting to piss him off.

I can feel my eyes drifting closed and I pull myself out of it with a growl and stomp into Damon's room. Somewhere in here he's hidden a bottle of ridiculously expensive (read: horrible tasting) scotch but I recall that the stuff has a higher alcohol content than any cooler I've been stocking lately. I grab the bottle and don't bother with a glass (another no-no in Damon's book of 'good' scotch), just open up the top and take a big healthy swig.

"Bluhhh!" I shudder as it goes down, stretching my tongue out as if it's going to get rid of the taste.

Damon swoops in before I can take another sip and he curses, inspecting the bottle. "Caroline! That stuff's two hundred dollars a bottle!"

"So buy another," and I swipe at the bottle.

"Okay, that's it," he concludes, wrenching the cap from my fingers and tugging my wrist with his free hands. "You've drank all the blood and most of the booze in this house. Now, I don't know what's got you so wound up, but we are going out and getting you something from the source before you do something rash."

We drive upstate to Duke and find a campus pub crawling with students. Patrick 'my friends call me Trick' Matthews has approached, apparently not bothered by Damon's presence. It's not like Damon's posturing anyway - no hand on my arm, no arm around my waste, no drifintg kisses across my forehead - we're not about that. But he does stick close by, especially when Trick insists on buying me a drink. Trick, for his part, is gracious, and buys a scotch for Damon while he's at it, and pretty soon, we're in a booth talking. More drinks come, some playful banter and some blatant flirting among the three of us: boy girl, girl boy, boy, boy, girl. Trick mentions his single nearby - as a law student, he's able to afford privacy - and we pick up another bottle of whiskey on the way, weaving among the flocks of students and acting like normal young adults. Damon flirts with the women we pass but he doesn't take the bait, and seems content to follow Trick and I. While I find it a little strange, I'm grateful too - I haven't tried to do this on my own yet and not in the way things look like they're headed.

After several more sips of whiskey, Trick Matthews is standing in the dimly lit room, jacket and socks off, dark hair tousled.

"It's like a light switch," Damon continues.

"What is?"

"All of it. Reach out and shut it off."

I move closer to Trick and hear the rapid roll of heartbeat echo in his chest. There is a rush of blood in his veins and his hazel eyes narrow. He is panting, shifting in his clothes and gazing heavily into my eyes.

"Almost," Damon sighs softly at my shoulder.

I think I feel his fingers ghost over my hips, sense his move to reach out but he stops himself and freezes.

I focus on Trick and it's like the ground opening up beneath me. He is a black abyss. I have him; I know I do. "Yield to me."

Trick nods and he comes willingly to my arms. Between my teeth there is a stinging itch and his scent envelopes me. His neck and shoulder are right under my nose, stuffing my senses with it and my skin begins to tingle. A million tiny shockwaves rushing through me, drawing up the blood and it _surges_, this blood lust, and it sucks me in.

I open my mouth and feel the fangs slide down, two wicked things so unreal and horrific now cemented to me, and my tongue glides out and slides over Trick's skin. He is salty sweet and my throat begins to ache. A longing moan wells up out of me and behind me, Damon moves aside the length of my hair and his lips touch briefly on my earlobe. "Do it," he hisses, the 't' snapping in my ear.

I bite deep and I bite hard.

* * *

"Do you feel it now? How the blood is charging through you? You've taken in a life force, Caroline, more powerful than anything that little witch Bonne could command. You've tapped it right from the source and tasted him and felt his pulse under yours. How do you feel?"

I lick my lips and let Damon's tutelage reverberate through me. How _do_ I feel? We're in the parking lot outside of Trick's hotel where we've left him to sleep off what we've told him will be a hell of a hangover. I can feel the blood drying on the skin around my mouth, tight and itchy, and I reach to rub at it with the sleeve of my coat.

"Wait," Damon says sharply, stepping into the light. He clutches the wrist of the hand I've raised and with his other hand he holds my face and tilts it up to his. His eyes falter and zero in on my mouth and chin and under my nose where I've spilled the most. The glacial blue eyes turn dark, smoky, and I am trapped, watching as the blood lust surges and comes to the fore in his face. "Don't let it go to waste," he husks.

It is a strange thing to have the one you hate kiss you in such a manner that your head spins. I'm helpless, reaching to clutch the back of his leather jacket in my hands as his tongue slants over mine, a growl behind his teeth, his mouth tasting, feeding, removing every trace of Trick Matthews from my lips. A second later he breaks away, leaving scant inches between our lips and my eyes, which fluttered closed at first contact, slip open to see those blue irises that reach deep down into the darkness of my heart. "Well?" he asks with cheek, raising an eyebrow in regards to his question.

How do I _feel_?

I smile up at him and lick my lips, tasting nothing but Damon and the lingering flavour of the kill. "I want some more."

Corruption is a powerful aphrodisiac

_

* * *

_

How did I end up here?

Below me, trapped between my thighs, Damon moans, his head thrown back, his throat exposed.

_You're letting it take over_.

Above me, trapping me in the circle of iron arms and under the bruising force of his hips, Damon smiles, leans down, presses soft kisses down the column of my neck.

_Do it_.

In his lap, legs wound about his waist, he surges under me like the tide into Chesapeake Bay. With gentle hands he cups my face, pushes the hair from my eyes so that he might see me better, and then he brings my lips to his. "Do it," he murmurs. "I want you to." His kiss takes my breath away, this one so much more intense than the one before. Now there is no blood, only me and only him. I'm wrapped up in the feel of his lips and tongue, the taste of him, the scent of his hair and his skin. He lets me hold him by the hair, gripping tight and moving him to my liking. From his mouth I trail to his jaw, from there I move to his neck. There is no pulse, no warmth, but I know it's there, just below the surface: to take Damon into me this way will make me sink further into what I'm becoming.

My fangs slide easily, out of me and into him, just as easily as he pushed aside any doubt and fear and sank deep and cool. He bursts onto my tongue, luke warm and sweet and thick and it simmers, mulled with darkness and power. I only take one taste, anything more and I'd be reeling, I can feel that now.

And viper-quick he retaliates and the feeling is familiar, like coming home, and I know that he's done this several times before, each one a reminder of the previous, the next one deeper and more satisfying than the last. It lasts but a second and his mouth comes away stained red with me and I stare down at him, wide-eyed, awed, and inspired.

"Caroline," he whispers, gazing up at me with parted lips.

I roll my hips and he falls back again, gripping my waist tightly and pulling me against him. He shouts hoarsely, loud and lusty, and bucks hard beneath me. The air hisses between his teeth as pants needlessly, groaning, eyes growing dazed and hot as he zeroes in on where we're joined. "Ohmygod," he mutters, licking his lips before looking up at me. Lust, pure and wanton, has washed away all harsh angles and dark cynicism. Damon is coming apart under me, his shadows unravelling. He's loosing control.

I moan loudly, close my eyes and concentrate on the feel of him so deep and so perfect, touching me inside out and everywhere in between. Beneath my fingers his chest is firm, solid, and as I lean forward for more leverage his hands glide up my hips to my sides, and around to cup my breast. He surges up, rolling his hips and tonguing a nipple at the same time and the dual thrill makes a hot, panting cry leave my lips.

"Yes," he mutters, palming my breast roughly. He pulls the nipple into his mouth, tugging it between his teeth as he moves me faster on his cock, making the friction hot and in turn, making me go cross eyed with white-out pleasure. It spurs him on and soon he's driving up into me, a sharp moan announcing each thrust, a curse, a string of Italian sexy talk that only makes me work harder. I swivel my hips and rock into him faster.

His head nods frantically. "Yes! Ohhhhh…_fffffuuuuuck_! I'm gonna come," he warns, pressing his head back into the pillow as he twists with ecstasy. With a practised move he's titled me back and angled his hips up and his strokes are short, quick, and to the point. Faster, and faster still, until his eyes squeeze shut and his lips fall open, a deep groan rolling out of him and spilling into me. He ignites beneath me and seconds later I combust, and flare and spark and soar, coming down moments later nothing more than a pile of burning embers.

* * *

TBC


	8. 8

_A/N: Lemons get the most response! Thanks to all the hits and reviews and alerts so far...I've got a few more chapters in my back pocket here and probably another lemon or two...Damon cornered me the other night and demanded to know why I didn't want his version of how things went with him and Caroline. You know how convincing he can be. Anyway, still AU, probably a little OOC, don't like it, don't read it, and I don't have a Beta. This one ends on a note that I am itching to explore: the relationship between maker and newbie - it's a fine line, really. While the VD universe wanders slightly from the known formula of making a vampire, I still feel that there would be some sort of connection with the vampire whose blood was in your system when you die._

* * *

"You're turning her into a _killer_, Damon, and I'm not going to watch you do it. This _has to stop_, don't you understand?"

Stefan's words are sharp, rattling through the house, and I sit up, eyes open in the dark room that is now mine. Stefan's gift, a way of saying, 'hey, Caroline, I know this sucks, but here's a room that's not as creepy as the rest of them are in this house.' He didn't do too badly, either, and I curl my fingers into the cool cotton sheets, raspberry red, 500 thread count, and simply divine.

"Stefan, we've been over this again and again," Damon groans. I smirk at his tone, knowing the face he's making right now, almost hearing his sigh before he continues. "She's a natural, Stefan. Remember how Katherine killed? Caroline is like that. But much simpler. No hesitation. She sees, she wants, she takes, and it is a thing of beauty, brother."

I remember last night, the football game, the Grill afterwards and Shavonne Casey, that bitch that took over my place on the cheer squad. I remember how her blood tasted, how her heart had pittered and pattered against my chest as I took her from behind just outside the shop doors in the parking lot. She had fought hard; she didn't look this tough. From somewhere in the shadows Damon had chuckled, had applauded when Shavonne fell limp from my arms, drained of blood and not a single drop left.

"Rah, rah, siss boom _rah_," I chanted as I licked my teeth.

Damon fucked me senseless in the parking lot after that, Shavonne's body cooling at our feet as he pressed me back and up against an SUV, his hands roughly shoving my skirt up and my panties aside. "What is it about you, Caroline," Damon huffed as he pressed inside. Stars burst behind my eyelids and I groaned and sighed and opened my eyes to find him gazing at me.

"Fast or slow?" he asked, rolling his hips up into mine.

"Slow," I sighed. "And hard."

He set a pace that made me wail and his hips bruised mine as he crashed into me. I felt his fingers dig into my hips and thighs as he tried to hold on, to hold out as long as he could. His lips were cool, sweet, his tongue wicked and winding. He snagged my lip with his teeth, he cut his tongue on mine and we rode it out with the taste of blood in our mouths.

I remember the ride home in Damon's 67 Camaro, the wind cool through the open windows. "I killed her," I had said, trailing my fingers into the darkness speeding by.

"I know." Damon's reply was emotionless.

"Why didn't you stop me?"

He glanced to me briefly, his eyes very sad for a moment. "I won't always be there, Caroline. You've got to learn to fend for yourself."

"Why do you care?" I had asked him.

* * *

Stefan asks the same thing, downstairs, and I am pulled from memory and still myself, straining to hear Damon's answer. I float from the bed, still fascinated with how silent my movements are, and move to hover in the hallway.

Damon must use a look that Stefan knows too well. There are no words except for when the younger Salvatore sighs, and starts again. "She's not a pet, Damon."

"And she's not a charity case, either," Damon counters.

"Well, I'm certainly not deaf," I say to both as I land at the bottom of the stairs. The brothers Salvatore turn to me, each one a brooding mess in his own right, and I look from Stefan's simpering green gaze to the heavy command of Damon's eyes. "If you want to talk about me, then talk _with_ me. You two sound like my parents." I leave them and head for the kitchen because that's where Damon's stash is.

"Caroline," I hear Stefan call, and I hear him following me, too. I look up from where I've popped the seal on a bag of AB positive and watch as Damon enters the room like fog – silent, creeping, all encompassing.

"Stefan," I whine with a mocking tone. I continue to pour into a mug and then throw it in the microwave for thirty seconds, enough to get the platelets moving and to simulate a live kill.

At least the younger Salvatore has the good graces to looked apologetic before he starts his sermon: "This isn't who you are."

Behind him, Damon rolls his eyes and then leans against the wall, watching me closely, his expression one of pure delight, hoping that this confrontation will get interesting. "Really," I being flatly, giving Stefan an even look before snagging my mug out of the microwave. "And just who exactly am I, Stefan? You didn't even know me before this, so don't get all high and mighty."

"She's right," Damon chirps from his shadow.

Stefan ignores him, but his jaw still twitches, and he focuses on me again. "Caroline, I know that you're a sweet, caring girl, one of Elena's friends…"

I cut him off. "Oh my god, is that what Elena is telling you? That I'm sweet and caring? Did she also tell you I'm a bitch? She's told me that once or twice. How about the fact that I'm stuck up? Or spoiled? Selfish, manipulative, controlling…" I trail off and take a deep sip from my mug. "Drinker of human blood." I pose as if doing a Folgers commercial. "Mmm…best part of waking up. In the middle of the fucking _night_."

Damon turns his chuckle into a cough which makes Stefan glance back with narrowed eyes.

"You know sunlight will kill you," the younger brother answers before turning back to me.

"Funny how it doesn't kill you." And then I look to Damon. "And it doesn't kill you either. Why is that?"

"It's not important…" Stefan readies for another long winded speech.

"It's the rings," Damon supplies, effectively cutting his brother off. He then holds up his left hand and points to the ring on the middle finger with his right. "Pretty kitsch, huh? Stefan and I both have one."

Of course they do – I mean, I'd seen the two of them every day for the last month; you start to notice things. I thought they were just family rings but now… "I want one," I decide, pulling my eyes from Damon's and looking to Stefan once more.

"We…I can't…it's not that easy." Stefan stumbles over his words. "It's not worth the trouble."

"The trouble? What the _hell_, Stefan, I can't possibly get into anymore trouble during the day than I do at night – you two are _always_ around!" My tone has gone shrill and I fight with the tantrum that is bubbling up inside. Fuck it. "You're the one that wants me to maintain my humanity and now you say I can't have a chance to walk around in the sunshine like everybody else? Elena has always gone on about how great you are. You're a hypocrite, Stefan. And you're a liar."

Seconds later I am back in my room. The speed still frightens me; my body works faster than my thoughts and it seems like I only need to _think_ of a place and I'm there. When I have my bearings I drain the mug that's still in my hands, the blood a little cooler, but still filling.

I'm weary of all of this – the fighting, the push and pull of two vampires, the constant flip back and forth from one way to another. It's like someone is standing at the light switch and flicking it off and on. I care and I don't and I miss Matt and I want to drink his blood and I hate not having all of my clothes here but in the long run, why should it matter?

It does.

And then it doesn't.

Decide. I need to decide. Make the choice.

Damon's right – turning the feelings off? It's like a light switch.

_

* * *

_

**On**

"Hey," Matt smiles shyly. His dimples appear, making my knees weak. It is night, it is dark, raining over head as he stands under the awning of the Salvatore's porch.

"Hi," I offer, just as shy.

"Umm…how are you?"

I smile at his attempts. "I'm good." I shrug, laugh a little at my answer. "How are you?"

He gives his own little shrug and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I'm good," he lies. Seconds later he shakes his head. "I'm lying."

"I know," I smile.

There is no hesitation as he leans down to kiss me. He doesn't pull away from me but holds me closer, lets me press my nose into the warm front of his sweatshirt as he slides his palms down over my hair. "I miss you," he murmurs.

"Me too." I miss him. I miss me. I miss a lot of things.

**_Off_**

"So, I was wondering if you wanted to catch that new Sam Worthington movie. It's playing up at the plaza."

**_On_**

He holds my hand when he walks me home later. The rain stopped while we were in the theatre, but it's coming again, I can smell it on the air.

"I had a really great time tonight," he says as he slows his steps up the driveway. His fingers twine with mine again and pull me back a step to meet him. "Caroline," he breathes, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "When are you coming home?"

I don't answer him. Instead I kiss him.

**_Off_**

"I have to go," I murmur.

The sky opens up and the rain falls down around us.

* * *

"You have to sleep."

"Why?" I murmur from where I stand at the window. The rain slides down the glass and the lights in the room are dimmed. Damon is a shadow, twisting and turning deep in the dark corners of everything.

"Because you need rest," he sighs, shrugging from his post in the shadow cast by the open door. "And your incessant pacing is keeping me up." He strides with confidence into the room and comes to stand behind me. Together, we both turn to the window and listen as the rain flutters on the roof. His chin settles on my shoulder and I let him rest there a moment, a space of peace found momentarily. "What's bothering you?" he asks gently, as if he cares.

"Nothing," I lie.

"You're lying."

_Duh_. "Whatever."

"Come on, don't be like that. I want to know."

There is sincerity in his voice, something akin to concern and urgency and I shrug him off, suddenly feeling a strange tension on the air. "Why?" I hiss, turning to where he's standing upright again, rubbing his chin.

"Well, maybe when you're feeling less stubborn," he snaps, turning on his heel.

He leaves silently but the door slams shut on something there, closing him off from me and me from him. It slams down, settles like an iron bar falling into place. The emptiness lingers in my chest, almost overpowering everything else. For the first time I feel lonely and this stands to shock me: why had I never felt lonely before?

* * *

TBC


	9. 9: in which Damon takes over

_A/N: Damon's POV! He insisted, I couldn't resist because a) I'm out of vervain, b) I'm a sucker for dark-haired boys with blue eyes and c) you've seen him without a shirt, right? Anyway, this is obviously going the way of AU; any similarities with this fic and another I read out there (can't remember which one but the process in which the ring is made is very similar) is total coincidence; I've been working on this part since the beginning of October. So love and kudos to all my fellow ficcers and thanks once more for all the reviews and hits. And, in true Damon style, lemons are on the horizon once more…_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Honestly, after that whole Vickie Donovan incident, I had vowed to never create another vampire again. It wasn't my intention to _create_ anything in the first place, save for maybe a little bit of warm fuzzy feelings for me. Doing favours for Bonnie to make Elena happy had become a sick and twisted hobby that I indulged in almost once a month, like clockwork. Last month's project: _give your blood to Caroline, Damon. I'm not asking for me, I'm asking for Elena, _the little witch had sneered. And, so, trying to be human by doing something good had backfired because…well…I just wasn't _human_. You couldn't pretend that shit. You could almost get away with it but somehow, some way…being a vampire always came back to haunt you.

Caroline Forbes had succeeded in doing this with the callous expertise and post adolescent sadism that only an eighteen year old girl could possess. And, just to make it extra special, apparently I was into that type of abuse.

She was fragile, obviously, a myriad of emotion, anger and such inner sadness that all at once, she seemed a very different person, a woman, a scorned and enslaved woman, hell bent on revenge, hell bent on utter _destruction_.

The very thought made me hard, made me ache in my gums, and when I closed my eyes some nights for a touch of reprieve, Caroline was there, invading my thoughts. It was getting to the point where I'd wake with her name on my lips, a sigh and a silent scream all the same, and ever since that night up at Duke, I hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something had happened, something more than just two bodies slapping together trying to reach that pinnacle that was often sought and rarely found. When Stefan would start in, my instinct was to defend, sometimes to the point of injury, and he was at a loss as much as I was. Why did I care what happened to Caroline?

What was it about her?

She had been moping for weeks, carrying on (read: whining like Stefan) about not being able to go outside, about how unfair it was that she had to stay indoors, about how stupid it was that she had to go hunting at night with Stefan and kill furry little forest creatures. If you haven't figured it out by now, I hate a whiner. Whining never gets anything done. My teeth set on edge every time Caroline's nasal-y groan broke through the boarding house and, believe me, it happened a lot. No amount of alcohol or meaningless feeding-cum-sex could mask the tremor of uncertainty that vibrated through Caroline's blood and subsequently into my mind (reminder: check with Saltzman on the effects 'progeny' have on their 'makers'). Some days I felt as loathsome, or more so, than poor Caroline Forbes and seeing her mother on an almost daily basis did not help. "Oh, Damon, Caroline is so depressed, she locks herself in her room, she doesn't go to class, she won't talk to Matt, and you seemed to be able to talk to her, blah, blah, blah."

Stefan wasn't any help, either. I could hear him, over and over again, trying to explain to Caroline that walking in the sun wasn't important right now. Sometimes he'd be firm but gentle. Other times he'd growl; he'd snarl and yell and bellow at her, so much that Caroline's voice would cut off in a sad little hiccup and she'd fling herself into her bedroom to lock the door and listen to Florence and the Machine.

"Why?" I heard her ask Elena over the phone one day. "Why can't I? Elena, I don't want to pull you into the middle of this but…can't you make him understand?"

Elena, bless her glossy dark head, had tried, had pressed Stefan and tried to find ways around his vague answers. Personally, I couldn't see the harm in it. After all, Caroline had a point – if Stefan wanted her to maintain as much humanity as possible, then what could being able to walk in the sun hurt?

Vickie hadn't been around long enough to even consider having something done about her inability to walk in the sun – not that she would have gone for it, mind you. That girl was a train wreck on a long and dark deserted section of track and the night suited her. But Caroline was golden, Caroline was life itself wrapped in a perfect package to hide the imperfections. She deserved to have a little warmth in her life after so much coldness. So I went to Bonnie, against my better judgement, and made my case.

"Make a ring for her," I said, fingering the smooth rectangle of lapis in my pocket. I withdrew the stone and held up under Bonnie's nose. "I can get it set but I need you and your little witch-tastic powers to make it work."

"Why should I do this for you?"

"You're not doing it for me," I groused, narrowing my eyes down at the little witch. "Do it for Caroline. She deserves a little happiness, don't you think?"

Bonnie didn't even blink. She just stood there and stared at me long and hard. "I'm not buying that crap."

Good, neither was I. "Fine," I huff. "It will make Elena happy."

"I didn't think you were in the Elena happy making business these days," Bonnie pointed out as she plucked the stone from my fingers. She leaned back against the front door to her house and inspected the smooth, blue stone. "I don't even know if I can do this."

"Do I need to remind you that you schooled my ass with your powers? And that was without saying a word. Emily made my ring and Stefan's," I added, rolling my own ring around on my finger as I studied her. "She must have written down her little ditty somewhere in that book of hers."

"_Grimoire_," Bonne corrected with an arched eyebrow.

Like I cared what it was called. "Whatever. Can you do it?"

She pushed away from the door and handed the stone back to me. "Maybe. I can try."

"Do or do not. There is no try."

"Are you actually quoting Star Wars now?"

I shrugged. "And why not? It is a cinematic masterpiece."

Bonnie narrowed her green eyes at me, the hint of a smile twitching her lips. "You know, vampire or not, guys just have weird taste in general."

I winked and headed towards the street. "Part of my charm."

* * *

"Hey," Bonnie started off slowly, not sure if she wanted to step foot in the house or not.

"Hey," Caroline droned back, wary of getting too close to the skittish witch.

From where I stood, it looked like a scene right out of 90210. "Okay, great introductions, can we get this started? The faster she's got that ring on her finger, the quicker I can be rid of her." The irony of my words was not lost on me and I smirked, pleased to see the witch had joined in.

Caroline shot me a look I'm sure she'd like to call 'death glare' but really, all it did was wrinkle that little nose and make her blue eyes shine like twilight. "Jerk," she muttered.

"Brat," I growled. I stepped back and Bonnie stepped in, eyeing both of us with reservations.

"Ring?" Bonnie asked, holding her hand out towards me.

"What?" Caroline glanced between us, clearly lost.

I fished the finished product from my pocket: a smooth cut rectangle of lapis set in blackened silver with that would sit nicely on Caroline's middle finger. Holding it up between Bonnie and Caroline, I asked: "Does this fit the bill?"

"Oh my god!" Caroline gushed, snapping the ring up and sliding it on her finger. Holding her hand out in front of her, her smile grew as her eyes widened. "It fits perfectly," she gasped.

"I know," I answered smugly. Hey, I was all about the ladies. I can size a woman up a mile away, from top to tail. Caroline's middle finger was slightly smaller than my pinkie finger and so the jeweller I took the stone to had no problems sizing it. A week later he had the finished product and it sat snugly on Caroline's finger, as blue as her eyes. "So, can you do it?" I ask Bonnie.

"Do what?" Caroline chirped, even though her focus was still on her ring.

"I think so," Bonnie exhaled. "Caroline." She put her hand on her friend's and drew the blonde's eyes up to hers. "I…Damon asked me to make you a ring so that you can go out during the day." She did not, thankfully, put in that I had asked to make Elena happy – because really, if that excuse fit the witch, then that was fine. I wanted Caroline to have a ring so she had just as much advantage as me or Stefan. I was starting to view Caroline as more of a kindred spirit and companion than constant pain in my ass. She was smart, viciously so, and stealthy and sexy and undead. We were a perfect match.

Caroline's wondering eyes found me and she blinked up at me for a moment, almost too shocked by what Bonnie had told her. "I…really? Damon…really?" She looked back to Bonnie. "Oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She jumped and wrapped her arms around the little witch who winced and grunted at the sheer strength Caroline executed with the embrace.

"Can't…breathe," Bonnie gasped with a wiggle. Caroline backed off with a soft apology and Bonne smoothed her shirt out. "It's okay," she said. "I'll just need to be able to breathe and speak if I'm going to do this." She didn't say 'try' because she knew better than anyone that she'd be able to do this – if not for me, then for Caroline.

"Thank you," Caroline gushed again, launching into my arms.

I caught her with one hand, smiled over the top of her head at Bonnie, and murmured, "You're welcome." Then I set her back on her feet and glanced at Bonnie. "How long is this going to take?"

Bonnie arched her eyebrow at my impatience. "Let's get started."

* * *

Caroline sat in the middle of my bed, twirling the ring around her finger much like I did with my own and Bonnie situated herself by the window. Pulling a large, leather bound journal from her bag, she flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. "Okay," she started. "I'm going to need your blood," she announced, turning to me.

"What? Why?"

Bonnie sighed, as if to say 'like you don't know'. "Be-cause," she drawled, "your blood was in Caroline's system when she died." She slid a deadly little stiletto with a jewelled handle from her hip pocket and came at me.

"Whoa." I backed, up, gripping her wrists and holding her back from me. "I'm not letting you bleed me."

"I'll do it!" Caroline was almost too eager and she pounced, trying to snag Bonnie's anthame in the process.

"No!" Bonnie scolded, stepping out of the way. "I mean…you can't. You can't use this blade and it has to be done with this blade."

"I don't get it."

Bless your blonde head, Caroline. She was so sweet sometimes. I gently took Caroline's hand and led her back to her perch on my bed. "Relax," I chuckled. "The knife is an _anthame_, a witch's tool. It's blessed by Bonnie and therefore can only be used by Bonnie," I explained. I spun back to the witch who had a crazy, expectant grin on her face. "You're going to enjoy this, aren't you?"

"Hardly," Bonnie snorted. "Unfortunately, I don't need any more than a drop. But I'd love to bleed you dry," she added with a twinkle in her green eyes.

"I bet you would," I agreed. "Where do you wanna stick me?"

She contemplated it for a moment, eyeing me up and down, and then quick as lightening she snatched my hand and dug the blade deep into the Venus hill at the base of my thumb.

The blood welled immediately, flooding up around the tip of the blade and I felt more than a tiny jolt of fear. Damn witches' tools. I hissed, watching the blood rise, and then glanced to Caroline who was sitting still and fascinated. Holding my bleeding hand up to the light, Bonnie held Caroline's ring between her thumb and forefinger. Closing her eyes, she huffed a few ancient words and then dabbed a drop of blood onto the stone. "_In solis, parade_," she muttered. That was it? _Walk in the sun_ recited in Latin? No smoke or sparks or –

"Here," Bonnie said a second later, tossing the ring to Caroline.

Obediently, the blonde picked it up, slid it onto her finger and the blinds rattled back from the window with a vicious yank by Bonnie. Caroline cried out, shrank back into the shadowed corner of the bed, and looked up at her friend with blood-raged eyes. "What the _hell_, Bonnie!"

For her part, the witch kept her cool and did nothing more than raise a cocky eyenbrow. "It's fine," she snapped. "Come on, trust me."

Caroline glanced to me and I could only shrug. I wasn't so sure anymore that this would work. Seemed a little anti-climactic for such a powerful spell, but Caroline was now too busy looking at her best friend, the little green-eyed witch, too eager for a response. She slowly crept across the bed and with a deep, unneeded breath, Caroline flashed her slender hand out into the sun's path.

Nothing.

Or rather: something happened, and that was _nothing_. A giggle erupted from Caroline's lips and she gasped, looking from her hand, to Bonnie, to me, and then back to her hand. "It worked," she said, awestruck.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Bonnie scoffed, gathering her book and her things. "I'll leave you to get reacquainted with the sunshine." The witch backed away to the door. "Please don't make me regret this," she murmured gently as she looked at Caroline.

Caroline shook her head emphatically as she rose from the bed to embrace Bonnie once more. "I won't. I promise. Thank you."

"I'll talk to you later," she smiled, before turning to me. She never said anything to me, merely fixed me with that witchy warning gaze of hers and then turned to leave. I listened to her descend the stairs and a moment later the front door swung open and then shut again.

I looked over to Caroline. "What would you like to do first?"

* * *

I should have known she would have picked the beach.

And I should have known that she wouldn't care it was the end of October. The stretch of sand was deserted this early in the morning and I stretched back against the lounge chair, folding my hands under my head, to watch as Caroline sped down the sand, her heels kicking the stuff up in her wake. A tiny red bikini clung to her curves and her laughter was pure music as it rang out in the cool air.

"Come in the water!" she laughed, turning back to me and rushing to our little setup.

I caught her eye above the Ray-Ban frames. "I _don't_ swim."

Her answering sigh was expected, as was her little pout. "Come _on_," she whined. "Just a walk, then. Please?"

I tossed aside my battered copy of _The Hobbit_ (I know, you expected me to be reading _American Psycho_ – too cliché, my friends) and removed my sunglasses, giving her a level look. "I'm not holding hands," I ruled out.

"I'm not asking," Caroline answered with a grin.

Twenty minutes later, her fingers were laced with mine as we wandered up and down the waterline. It wasn't a romantic gesture, more along the lines of soothing…grounding. And I could tell that she was having just as hard of a time determining where these feelings were coming from. She twisted out of my grip and wandered ankle deep, kicking at the waves that kicked her first and splashing saltwater in the process.

As young as she was, Caroline was tuned to blood and to heartbeats and almost immediately she turned back to the point of the beach and stared. She was still, a statue, unblinking, and the water surged over her ankles. Sure enough, past the roar and crash of waves and the cry of gulls, the sound of pulsing blood came, and with it the smell of a pair of humans, male and female, accompanied by the barking of a dog.

With Caroline at my side, we ate like a king and queen. It's really quite startling, the precision that she uses and the natural predatory streak that is buried beneath the skin. Her fangs dropped and the bloodlust rushed to the surface and when she bit it was to the sound of a crushed windpipe and the wheeze of blood and last breath. She was fast, not a fan of the suffering, and that was because of the tiny flare of humanity still burning in her. It burns in her to this day.

When she'd had her fill she looked up at me, carnage clinging to her teeth, and she smiled. "Bored now," she sang lightly. The body dropped next to the one I had discarded. "Can we go shopping?"

I laughed at her casualness and looped an arm around her shoulders. "Clean up duty first, Caroline. Get rid of the bodies," I listed, toeing the body of the man, "and then clean up ourselves. You have horrible table manners."

"Learned from the best!" she chirped brightly. Then she glanced down at her nails, and the undersides that were clogged with sand and gore. "Ugh, manicure for sure." She peered at her toes. "Pedi, too." She sucked her teeth clean and grinned back at me. "Race you to the car?"

Seriously, what was it about her?


	10. 10

_A/N What a late entry! Sometimes life gets in the way of the muse and I have to step away from this world before I get too involved. Have to remember that this doesn't pay the bills – but wouldn't it be sweet if it did? Thanks to those who have come by to read and to those who have put me on alerts and reviewed._

_This one was kind of hard to write – after Damon stopped by he wouldn't leave and I had to keep telling him that Caroline needed closure to continue on this path, wherever it's taking her. So we had to sever things with Matt completely. My interest in Matt's character has been piqued since reading the novels and this great fic called 'Taking Advantage' by Coquilleon. This was the result, I personally feel it's a little week, but I've got some good stuff on the horizon._

* * *

**1. Guy at carnival**

**2. Happy Meal**

**3. Shavonne Casey**

**4. woman on beach**

**5. ?**

"What are you doing?"

I look up from the list I've started to make and my fingers curl, pulling the paper inwards until it is little more than a ball of scrap wood pulp. "Nothing," I shrug, unwilling to look Damon in the eye.

The way he looks at me these days is unsettling. It's like…like he _knows_. Knows _everything_. Knows that I doubt myself and my new found state, that I doubt the strained relationship between me and Bonnie and me and Elena, that I doubt my mother's heart, that I struggle with this feeling of incompleteness and loss, and that I lie awake at night, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a blur as they shift from Matt to Damon, back to Matt, fall asleep with Damon…

"Bullshit," he sings happily and he swoops in, snatching the scrap of paper from my fist. He smoothes it out and holds it to the light of the fire (a little dramatic show, I presume; Damon's eyesight is keen in any light). He begins reading and when he gets to the question mark at number five, he snorts and lowers the paper before glancing back to me.

"You're keeping track? A little twisted and nostalgic, don't you think?"

I pretend not to notice the hitch of concern and instead I surge from his desk and shoot him daggers. "I find it a constructive use of my time."

And slowly, like always, that dark eyebrow creeps up over that blue eye and he _smirks_. I shiver. "I _promise_ you, you're never going to remember _all_ of them. I might be able to think of something a little more constructive than _this_," and he waves the paper before casting it to the fire.

I leap, trying to reach for it before it burns and my memories with it, but he catches me by the shoulders and holds me, giving me a gentle shake. "Caroline, _enough_. I know you're struggling with this but you're really starting to be a _downer_. I mean…you're like Stefan only without the big forehead."

I try not to laugh but I can feel my lip curling upwards already. Dark and devious Damon; he has spoiled me for anyone else despite the deeds he has directed my way. I hate him. I hate him and I love to hate him and I love him like I hate him. "I'm sorry," I pout, annoyed that he has managed to change my mood once more.

He shakes his head and it is borderline affectionate, in a way a parent might shrug off their favourite (if errant) child, and he pours blood and hands me the glass.

"Infinitely. You forget, sweet Caroline, that I, too, went through my teething years with Saint Stefan." His voice turns distant, low and soft, and he sinks into the leather couch. I follow him down and together we stare into the flames. "This is his doing," Damon declares dulcetly. "He refused to be a vampire without me and so he forced me to drink and to turn with him; too scared to live out eternity alone after Katherine was gone. And when I crossed that line for him and embraced what he wanted me to become, he changed and threw away from everything between us. He told me it was wrong, this thing he had insisted was so right. And so now _I'm_ the villain and Stefan is the hero, and here we are."

"Does that make me the damsel in distress?" I ask, shooting Damon my best coy look. "Are you going to tie me to the railroad tracks?"

His smile is instant, but deadly, and he leans forward, into what most people would consider personal space. I haven't had personal space with Damon for some time now. He licks his lips and looks me up and down before answering, "Do you _want_ me to tie you up?"

"Hardly," I mutter.

We are silent for a while. Then Damon turns to me. "Can I ask you something?"

"If it involves me or you naked, the answer is 'no'."

He pouts, clutching his dead heart. "Oh, Caroline, you hurt me so." His face is serious the next moment, drawn in concentration and a look of concern that I had thought only the younger Salvatore possessed. "You can…_hear_ me, right?"

I scowl at his cryptic question. "Ummm…_yes_?"

He shakes his head and tries his hardest to not snap. "Not like that," he clarifies. "I mean…you can hear me. In your thoughts. In…"

"My dreams," I finish softly, gazing into the fire.

"Your heart is broken," Damon points out.

I turn to him just as he does to me and our eyes lock. "How do you…"

"I can feel it," he answers tightly. His jaw ticks and he rises from the couch, moving to the liquor once more. "And I know you're struggling with that." He pours two glasses and brings one to me. "So what are you going to do about it?"

I snort into the glass before drinking deeply. I've slowly been developing a taste for this, for liquor and blood and killing, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I've developed a taste for Damon and the things that make him up. "I'm going to walk away."

With a condescending tilt of his head, Damon offers a content expression. "Not many of us have the same conviction, Caroline." He sweeps past me, out of the library. "Goodnight," he says, pausing just slightly to do so, and then he's gone. The air stirs and then there is emptiness all around me.

* * *

I am awake with a sudden surge of rage, pure, unrelenting anger and spit and hate and…I want to _kill_. I fly from my bed and dress hastily, on auto-pilot. One thought moves me, makes me step into my boots and shrug into my jacket, not caring that the clock reads past midnight. It is the thought of blood, of hot, pounding, gushing blood, thick and so coppery as it pours into my mouth. No blood bags; I can't take another reheated meal. Something fresh, something sweet, that's what I need.

Stefan, thankfully, is not at home, and I steal out the front door and flash into the woods, towards town, towards familiar streets. The sounds around me drop out, one by one, until there is nothing more than a familiar heartbeat and the scent of Axe and Tide just up ahead. At the end of Arlington Avenue I come to stop before the Donovan house, closed and dark in the late night, all save the dim glow coming from an upstairs bedroom.

Matt's room.

My feet move and I think I should stop them but then I'm at the front door and I'm rapping my knuckles against it. I count the seconds until I hear his footsteps, plundering down the steps to land on the linoleum of the foyer. The light overhead flicks on, as does the one inside the front door, and then it's open and Matt is there, bleary-eyed, blond hair mussed on one side and flat on the other. He is shirtless and the heat coming from him makes my eyes cross.

"Caroline?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "It's almost one in the morning. What's up?"

I watch his lips move, the way he says my name is almost enough to make me turn and run from the gentle gaze he's directed my way. _Almost_. Then comes the scent of the light sheen of sweat on his skin and the fine dusting of pale hairs on his chest, over his hard belly. I can see almost very single tiny vein working furiously to shoot blood around inside his body. "Can I come in?" I ask.

He studies me for a moment before heaving a shrug. "Sure. Yeah, come inside, it's freezing out there." He backs away from the door.

I come inside.

"So what's up?" Matt asks as he settles on the stairs. He hasn't asked to take my coat but it's okay because I'm too busy hugging it to my body, watching him watch me.

"I…" What could I tell him? I'm here for your blood? I'm here to fuck around with your feelings again? I'm here for all of it? "I just wanted to see you," I shrug. "Maybe I should go," the rational part of me chokes out, and my fingers twitch against the doorknob. I don't remember turning away from him.

"Care…it's okay. I'm sorry, I just didn't expect…you've been really…distant, lately. You don't talk to me at school, you ignore my texts…Just…"

His breath hitches and I tell myself over and over not to look, don't look, don't fall into his voice, but my eyes find his. "Matt," I breathe.

"Tell me what's wrong. Is it something I did?" he chokes out. "Because I'm always fucking up – remember how bad I was with this at the beginning?" He tosses in a sad little laugh with it.

"No. It's not you. It's not me. It's not…"

"Not _what_?"

I take a deep breath, even though I don't have to. I open my eyes and steel myself against the sturdiness of his gaze. "It's not safe. I need you to be safe." And now my voice hitches and suddenly he's surrounding me. I freeze in his arms and for a minute he doesn't move, but then I melt and my head falls against his shoulder.

"Shh," he mutters, rubbing his hand up and down my back. "What are you talking about?" he murmurs.

And even as he says it, my reasoning from only seconds before is fleeting, and I don't recall any other reason to be here except for one: for the blood, and for the source of it. Matt. His skin is hot under my fingers and I pick up my head, gazing at him, even as he's pushing my jacket from my shoulders. "Stay a while," he mutters.

He lays me down on his bed, among the pillows and twisted sheets. The touch of his lips is familiar, the heat his hands is heartbreaking as he slides my sweater off, tugs the jeans down my hips, always gentle, always with an asking glance, checking in on me, making sure that this is what I want. He will never have to take care of me again, but he doesn't know this and it is a little luxury that I will keep with me forever.

It dawns on me, as Matt locks us into another kiss, that he is _safe_. Safer than I could have ever known, and I intend to keep him that way. Then he is balancing on a forearm and reaching between us to grasp his length and bring it hold it steadily against me, rocking his hips up into mine as they roll. "Ask me," he whispers against my cheek.

"Come in," I smile.

His tears collide with mine.

"I love you," he says softly, looking down at me, brushing aside the damp curls of my hair where they've stuck to my neck. His lips press there, lingering, and his fingers tighten their hold on my hips. He moves faster now, his eyes bright as he gazes down at me. My hands are already in his hair, combing through until I catch his head at the back of his neck.

I tug his ear to my lips and whisper that I love him too as I wrap my legs around his waist and arch up against him. He's close; his body trembles and I smell the rush of oxytocin under his skin, mixing with the blood and the sweat until it's an unbearable cocktail that makes my teeth burn and ache.

"Matt," I gasp, clutching him close to me. Right there, right under the jaw on the right side, the carotid artery is jumping and my throat begins to ache and close up.

"It's okay," Matt assures. "I've got you." The curve of his smile smashes into my heart and it's too much.

My breath begins to hitch and my hips shudder, colliding with his. With a slow, deep thrust up, his tongue sinks into my mouth and my thighs shake. Gasping into his mouth, it takes over, surges through me with a roar and sends my fangs sinking into his lip. It is a small, sweet sip of blood that makes Matt moan and quake at his shoulders. "Caroline," he gasps, pulling away. "Oh my god, Caroline." A single drop of blood winks on his lips as he gazes down at me.

I reach out and gently flip the switch off. Everything is dark and the taste of Matt is divine.

It is late, and he watches me with a sad smile as I dress. He complains of a sore neck but doesn't raise a hand to feel the wounds there. They're already healing and by the time he gets up tomorrow, he'll have no reminders of our last night together. He'll only know that we're broken up. As I speak, telling him all the reasons why I love him and all the reasons I'm not right for him, his face crumbles and he shakes his head. It's as if he knows he's going to forget everything and he's so afraid to do so. But it's the only way, and besides, it's not like I'll never see him again. I still manage to cry the whole way home.

* * *

Damon is waiting for me when I arrive. He says nothing, merely takes my coat from me and hands me a glass of blood. Leading me to the couch in the library, he sits next to me, drinking his own fill and staring into the fire. He is very quiet and still, something that I've never associated with Damon. It as if something inside of him has gone out, some spark that just isn't there anymore. I wonder if he even tastes the blood as he drains his glass in two more gulps. He sets his glass down and leans back into the couch. "It doesn't always work," he finally offers, glancing briefly at me with a quirk to his lips. "That little switch you flick off and on? Sometimes the wires get crossed."

* * *

TBC


	11. 11

_A/N: Getting close to wrapping this one up, but I'm having so much fun in Damroline Land that I'm thinking of doing a prequel to this and a sequel as well. I've definitely got at least on lemon left for this story, and it will make its appearance next chapter. Until then, enjoy, and review if you see fit._

* * *

Stefan no longer shoots his broody, sidelong glance at me when I split open the blood bag and pour a glass to savour.

Elena has noticed the subtle differences between me now and me before, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't worry her bottom lip and slide her eyes towards Stefan in hopes that he may be able to talk some sense into me.

Talk is cheap but he's used all of his words; his pockets are finally empty.

Bonnie stays away from me. She says that it's nothing, but I know better.

Matt acts like I don't exist and I think it's for the better.

Mom does her thing like she always has, separate from me and any issues or baggage I might hang on her if given the chance to open up. I'm past feeling bad about it at this point. She has her life. I have mine. In one way or another.

The only one that hasn't changed, hasn't had to accept anything is Damon. That's what scares me the most: Damon has always known that eventually I would embrace this. It was in the way his keen blue eyes followed me first in disbelief and uncertainty. After a few weeks, he began letting his guard down, slipping into that tiny human piece of himself, the one that was the sociable flirt, the sweet but demanding lover, and the jealous suitor.

I remember quite vividly how it happened.

* * *

Blood goes in and _it_ comes out.

I haven't looked at myself this closely since…since _that_ day when I was still in the hospital. Now I'm crowded around the granite counter top of Damon's ensuite, gazing into the mirror, bringing the glass of blood to my lips…swallowing a mouthful…and I watch as the veins appear around my eyes, which themselves have gone burning bright like coal. And my _fangs_. I have _fangs_. I delicately sneer, peeling my upper lip back and up and I turn my head from side to side. Yep. Fangs. On both sides. Makes me look kinda bad ass.

"Having fun?"

Damon has appeared behind me, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the door frame. A look of pure amusement lights up his face and he watches me in the mirror, waiting for my answer.

I give him a smile, one that is a reflection of his, and I turn, affecting the same cool, casual pose as he is. "I think I'm getting used to it."

His smile widens. "Really?"

I nod. "Yep. I mean…I can even handle being at school these days. I had lunch with Tyler – he kinda looked at me funny when I piled on enough food to feed the starting line of the football team, but he was pretty impressed when I managed to put it all away." I gave Damon a shrug and turned back to the mirror, lifting the glass of blood once more.

"So what did you tell him?"

I hear his words but don't answer and instead I concentrate on the thick slide of blood over my tongue and I savour the copper and the sugar, imagining that every individual platelet is bursting and –

"_Caroline_."

I gaze back at Damon's reflection in the mirror. His stare is intense (when is it not?) and he shifts, moving into the small room, shutting the door behind him. He leans forward on the sink beside me but we watch our reflections instead of each other, and it is a curious exercise: neither of us move; we don't blink and we don't breathe and the stillness is eerie.

"What did you tell Tyler?"

I stare blankly at my reflection. "I didn't tell him anything." Did that sound like a lie? Because I really didn't tell Tyler _anything_. I may have used a little more force than normal and that made him give me that funny look that signals he's up to something, but it's not like he could find anything out. At least, that's what I told myself on the way home from school this afternoon.

On my way home from school. Such a normal thing in a not normal world.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep," I say, perhaps a little too cheerful. I steal a glance at Damon only to find him watching me with that same pensive stare.

"Keep it that way." It's a warning; I can hear the edge in his voice and I look down at the blood in the glass.

When I look up again, he's gone, the door ajar, and I am left standing, staring in the mirror, wondering why things have to be so black and white.

I burn up the stairs, determined to do _something_ to rebel against Damon. Slowly but surely, I am realizing what he really is to me. Damon and I are irrevocably linked; I was made with his blood and because of that, I am tied to him forever, it whatever way he sees fit. It is obvious he is loosing control of everything around him and as a result, his fist tightens around me.

But there is something deeper, something so deeply _Caroline_ that through the link even Damon senses it: I am not easily controlled.

* * *

"You're a what?" Tyler growled, staring at me in my mother's foyer.

I gave him a weak sigh and my shoulders sagged. "I'm a vampire," I repeat. This is the first time I've told somebody – actually used the words, and they fall foreignly from my tongue. "So I know you're a werewolf," I continue with a nonchalant shrug. That sounds even _crazier_, if that's possible, and Tyler could only stare blankly for a moment, a mimic of my own vapid gaze when the realization of my fate dawned upon me.

"How can you…what do you mean…you _know_? Are there others like you?"

"No," I rush to cover, shaking my head. "No, there aren't any others. Just me. So I know what it's like to be…alone." Apparently, I also know what it's like to live in a Twilight novel only there seems to be a lot more blood in the real life version.

And we don't sparkle in any way.

Damon's probably going to kill me for even _talking_ to Tyler and for a moment, the fear swells my throat shut. But then I look across the space between me and the werewolf and the look of desperation in his eyes kills me. Yes; this is what I must have looked like to Stefan and to Damon that first night at the carnival. I wish I could tell Tyler that it will all be okay, but he's more alone than I am. I may have a void, but I suddenly know how to fill it; it is clear as the daylight streaming in through the windows.

"How can you…I thought that vampires burned in the sun," Tyler suddenly points out.

"We do," I admitted, rolling the ring that Damon gave me around on my finger. "But that's not important right now."

"Like hell it isn't," Tyler snarls. "How can you know about me? How can _you_ be a…a vampire?"

I wish I could tell him. I wish I could be brutally honest with him and tell him that it's not his fault and that Katherine, who happens to be Elena's vampire doppelganger, arranged to trigger his transformation because she used compulsion on Matt and that now she was waiting for him to transform so she could perform whatever ritual she had planned on. I can only stare and shrug helplessly, and the silence stretches out between us.

"I wish I had all the answers," I offer lamely. But it's the truth. I wish _I_ knew why I was turned into a vampire; there had to be some other reason besides being a pawn for Katherine.

"My uncle knows. I mean he's a…he's one, too," Tyler tries to explain. His face crumples in pain and confusion and my knowledge of Mason Lockwood's demise burns in my chest. But I can't tell Tyler. I can't tell anyone. Tyler sighs and rubs a hand over his tired face before slumping onto the staircase. "Does your mom know?"

I have to laugh at this because technically, she does know, but my power of compulsion has wiped the knowledge from the forefront of her mind. I'm sure deep in the recesses of her brain, behind the day-to-day paper work and police reports, she has retained that knowledge. "Oh my _god_, no. She'd kill me. Like, I really think she'd kill me," I confess, shooting Tyler a wry grin. "Does your mom…know?"

Tyler shrugs slightly. "I don't really know," he admits. "I don't even know if my _dad_ knew. Surely he was a candidate." Tyler trails off and then suddenly he lifts his head. "They know _something_, though, don't they? Our parents – I mean, your mom, my mom and dad…the founding families. They're in on it, aren't they?" He's on his feet in the next seconds and he closes the distance between us. "Tell me that much, Caroline. Tell me _something_."

So I nod. It's a movement of my head that's barely there, but there is a sudden break in the intensity of Tyler's gaze. "Yes," I breathe. "This goes deeper than you could ever imagine." My words are thick and they hang between us.

Tyler squares his shoulders and stands back. He casts his dark gaze to the floor. "Okay," he breathes, nodding in return. "Okay." Then he's picking up his book bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'll see you at school on Monday," he offers, reaching for the door.

"Wait," I say, putting my hand over his.

His eyes meet mine and the thrill of it runs through me, smoother than Damon's presence, more unbalanced than I've ever felt. He stares at me, his brown eyes deep, edged in gold and green. His pulse races; my eyes narrow on the jugular jumping under the tanned skin of his neck. In that moment, I am frozen, more so than I've ever felt before. Tyler Lockwood traps me in his gaze and I hear the low rumble of a growl. It isn't a warning but more of a confirmation of something. His face relaxes, his eyes loose their intense gaze and he turns his hand over to briefly clasp mine. "Monday," he repeats softly. Then he's gone.

He's left me shaking.

* * *

"Caroline?" Alaric Saltzman sounds confused, and he should. I'm sure the last thing he expected was to find me on his doorstep at three in the morning. Then, it's like a light switch has turned on and he sobers, sleep sliding from his rugged face. "What's wrong?" he frowns. He's alert, his hazel eyes sliding to the closet he's standing next to. He's probably got a weapon in there and after my liaisons with Katherine, he's most likely going to go for it.

"I didn't know where else to go," I blurt out. And it's the truth. I can't help but wonder what is going on with me – the way Damon seems to becoming a part of me more and more each day and that now, all of a sudden, Tyler's a werewolf and I cannot deny what passed between us in the front hall after school. "I'm not here for anyone else but me – please, Mr. Saltzman…I need your help."

He surprises me when he lets me in, but I've seen him go head to head with vampires before. I'm not about to try anything this late at night. He makes me hot chocolate, shrugging at his lack of blood in the fridge, but I don't really care. It is a sweet gesture and chocolate is chocolate, no matter what.

"I told Tyler I was a vampire," I say after a few moments of silence in his breakfast nook.

He lets out a breath and his eyes go wide for a moment. "Caroline," he says lowly, "does Damon know this?"

I shake my head. "No. He's too busy with protecting Elena. I – it happened at school today, when I told Tyler? In my mom's foyer, of all places. He suspected something was wrong with me after I put him in a kimora –

"A what?" Mr. Saltzman blinked.

"A kimora. Watch UFC much? Anyway, I used a little more strength than a human might but he fought back and then he started to suspect that…something wasn't right. He followed me home from school and accused me of being a werewolf – can you believe that? Me, a werewolf?" I shrug before going back to my story. "So of course I said no. He looked so scared, and confused and…I sorta told Tyler I'm a vampire."

The teacher sucks in a breath. "This could be a problem," he points out.

"No shit," I snap before turning back to my hot chocolate. "Anyway. He knows."

"About _everything_?"

"No, not everything. Just about me. I told him I was the only one. And…maybe he knows about the council." I glance at Mr. Saltzman, who can only gape at me. "But he suspected something anyway," I add in a rush.

"So…what exactly do you need my help with?"

"What can you tell me about vampires and the ones they make?"

Mr. Saltzman tips his head to the side curiously. "As in creation of vampires?" When I nod, he does too, and then he continues with a helpless shrug. "Not a lot, I don't think. I mean…just superstitions, really. There isn't a lot of first hand information that's reliable."

"Superstitions? Like what?" I drain my mug and watch as he picks it up and rinses it, staring out the window over the sink.

"Uh, let's see. Shared thoughts, for one – between maker and progeny."

"Check," I mutter, propping my chin up in my palm. "Kinda creepy, actually."

"Wait – you mean that you share thoughts with Katherine?" Mr. Saltzman sputters as he spins to look at me. The mug clatters to the bottom of the sink.

"Katherine? No. Why would I share thoughts with Katherine? And even if I did – don't you think I would tell you? Or Stefan or Elena or something like that?"

Mr. Saltzman is kinda cute when he's confused. "But I thought that…Katherine made you?"

"No," I drawl slowly. "Katherine _killed_ me. It was Damon's blood in my system."

His hazel eyes widen comically. "You share thoughts with _Damon_?"

I nod, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, not the best thing about this, by far." Although, continue in my mind, it can be somewhat comforting – him knowing what I'm going through? I don't have to try and explain the tsunami of emotions that sweep over me at any given moment. The speed from which I can go from content to furious is mind warping and something that Damon understands all too well.

"Hold that thought," Mr. Saltzman instructs before he bolts from the kitchen. He returns seconds later with a notepad, a pen, and a digital recorder. "You don't mind if I…take some notes?" Not waiting for an answer, he clicks his pen and scribbles the date and makes note of the time. "What else? You said you share thoughts." He writes this down. "Tell me more."

Seriously? He's taking notes? "O-kay," I say slowly, not sure where to start. I say the first thing that pops into my head: "The sex is amazing."

He blushes and slams his hand over the digital recorder. "Um…I don't know if that's…"

"Necessary?" I say, quirking a brow. I throw a smirk – this must be what it's like to be Damon – and say "It's for research. He's in my dreams, too. Sometimes I see him, hear him, like I'm right there watching him, and then _being_ him, doing everything he does."

"Can you give me an example?"

"I've killed with him. Right there in Atlanta. I was at the hotel and he'd gone out but…I was there. I saw everything." I felt everything, too, but I don't tell Mr. Saltzman that.

He scribbles this down as well.

"I feel him when he's not around. Like he's right there but not." I frown at my lame description and heave a sigh. "I'm not making any sense."

"No, no actually, I'm starting to wonder if it's all superstition that I've read. What you're describing sounds at least somewhat like the information that is out there. I mean, you hear his thoughts, are in his dreams, you're obviously fu…fulfilling certain desires for each other," he covers lamely. "And you feel it when you're separated through time and distance."

I find myself nodding as Mr. Saltzman runs down a list of symptoms, each one more true than the one before. Finally, he breaks off, stopping suddenly, and I slip from the daze I've fallen into from the low murmur of his voice and the cadence of his words. I think of church when I was ten and the ramblings of the pastor. I think of swinging my legs back and forth in the pew, feet barely touching, sunlight coming in bright, past my mother's golden halo of hair to sting my eyes and my hands and my face before. Then, a shadow, as if some great dark wing passes over the coloured glass of the chapel and blocks out the sun. I blink and Mr. Saltzman stares back as we sit at his kitchen table.

"He'll never let me go," I say softly, and the realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. Shocking. I gulp, choking on the words as I repeat them. "Never."

I say goodbye an hour later with a promise to contact him if anything changes. In the meantime, he explains, he's going to do some digging, call a few acquaintances in Europe to see if there's anything else he can tell me about the bond between Damon and me. I ask him why there is no connection between Katherine and Stefan and Katherine and Damon like there is with me and Damon, and Mr. Saltzman can't answer. He wants to, I can see it in his eyes – he's dying to learn as much as I am.

He's told me to go home, to avoid the boarding house if I can as if he senses how difficult it's becoming to steer clear of Damon. But he doesn't think I'm strong enough to keep my confession to Tyler to myself, and I _know_ I'm not strong enough to. In a flash I'm home, and the scent of Tyler still lingers on the air from hours before. It's too faint for him to be here. But I worry about Damon coming round. If I don't show up at the boarding house, he's bound to come looking. He's been invited in.

When I step onto the porch and reach for the handle, I already know. The hum of his blood sings in the air and practically vibrates the brass of the knob beneath my fingers. Damon is already here.

* * *

TBC


	12. 12

_A/N: Before I get any sad facey reviews, I know I promised a lemon here, but this is the way this final chapter went and the citrus escaped me. Not to worry! I'm working on a smut-heavy prequel to this and hoping to get away from the dark cerebral ramblings I tend to go on. As a special treat, please help yourself to a slice of lemon pie with Chapter One of 'Bruise, Dredge, and Drain', the prequel to this work. I'm also dabbling in the Jeronnemy (Jeremy/Bonnie) arc and what they could achieve with better timing and less clothing._

_Thanks again to anyone who has stopped by, read, reviewed, and subscribed. This starts of with some Damon POV as one reviewer Leigh Alexander expressed she'd like to see how pissed Damon gets. He might not get pissed, but he does make some interesting points._

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Damon

The scent of mongrel – of _Lockwood_ – curls around me like sooty smoke from a broke-down fire in the dead of winter. I feel like I am back there, in the broken branches of a Georgian freezing rain storm. My body aches, my bones shake, and my fists clench. The battle is coming. My blood sings for it. My blood sings for _her_.

What is it about her that makes everything warped and wound tightly? Why Caroline, sunshine bright and pale like the moon, when my ties to Katherine were severed so severely and so soon. I feel no obedience to her, feel no weight on my chest when we're apart, feel no anger like the anger I do when Caroline and I fight. I am sick for her, sick from her, and the confusion that comes with the obsession is wreaking havoc on me. She's there when I wake up, whether in my bed or my blood, and she's there when I close my eyes, in my dreams and rolling through my designs. The call was sent out when her flame was snuffed – I woke, startled from sleep, unable to fall under again, and I paced that entire night, wondering where the lightening bolt had struck. Low and behold, Caroline Forbes came to me, newly blooded and fresh to kill, and I took her under my wing, her mouse to my crow, and together we painted over her shiny veneer in bright, vibrant, dripping red. But there's still no answer, no reason for this and no one else can tell me now. I might ask Katherine, but her lips are as easy with lies as they are the truth and most of the time, I'm convinced even she doesn't know the difference. Tomorrow, I'll go to see Ric Saltzman.

Tonight, I'll wait for Caroline.

I bypass the front door, knowing that I'll only raise suspicion showing up at the Forbes home at…I check my watch…eleven past midnight. Instead, I hit the backyard, crane my neck and peer up at Sweet Caroline's darkened bedroom window. Listening closely, I hear the TV, hear Liz's heartbeat, but nothing of my girl. Did I just call her my girl? Up the tree and seconds later I'm crawling through that all too familiar window to find her room empty, her sheets cool, and her blackberry blinking madly with missed calls and texts. She's been here; her scent is strong within this space, and thankfully (for her? For me?), the scent of Lockwood does not extend to these parts of the house. I'll stay here, among her things, like I did before, and I move through the familiar room, scanning her photos, touching her books and her jewellery before flinging open her closet to peruse the obscenely large wardrobe therein. One by one I pull open the smaller drawers built in, knowing that I'll find her lace panties and matching little bras, her sexy, barely-there thongs and see-through nighties – all of which look better on the floor than on her. The silk is soft between my fingers and her scent lingers on everything, that much stronger because it's pressed against her so intimately. Just the thought makes my mouth go dry and I reach down to readjust my jeans. I leave her closet and turn back to her bed.

The thing about Caroline's bed is that it's king-sized. I never had to fight for space here, but I never took the room that was offered and was content to let her lay on me when she wanted, and push me away while she dreamt deeply. Always, always, on the mornings that found me here, she'd wake with a smile and me with a smirk and a hard on, and she was good to go with no questions asked. Even the time she threw that book at me – that god-awful misrepresentation of vampires – stands out in my mind and I remember the insolent little pout she pushed at me when I explained to her why I didn't sparkle. A sigh leaves as I sink back against the bedcovers. She'll come, one way or another, and both prospects are appealing.

I'm dreaming of her. I'm incredibly aware of her presence getting closer, chasing me like shadows do the sun, flickering in and out of focus. Something isn't quite right; her blood is muted, like she's hiding something. She dashes into the shadow, her golden hair trailing behind her, and stupidly I follow and stumble into the darkness, only to be rushed upon by a surge of rage, and fear, and lust, and uncertainty. A growl rips through my skull, and amber eyes flash before mine. Dark, insolent and murderous features dissolve into light and low and behold, I am face to face with Tyler Lockwood.

And just as fast as he's appeared, he's gone in a wisp of smoke. My eyes open and I stare at her ceiling. Beneath my skin, my veins are burning so bad I curl my hands into fists, a soft growl rolling from my chest. She's downstairs. On the porch, to be exact, reaching for the door handle and suddenly stopping, her deep blue eyes floating up to roof, as if she can stare right through wood and brick. She knows I'm here.

I sit up, fascinated by the fact that I just _saw_ her, and any speck of doubt is confirmed as I hear the faint click of the door opening and then closing a split second later. Moments later her scent hits me, curling around my head and over my skin as if it has sought me out specifically. Her blood is hot, her breath warm and sweet, and the scent of chocolate permeates the air. It's not enough to cover the scent of Lockwood, and that thought makes shoots me to my feet.

On the other side of the door, she hesitates and draws back a step, draws in a breath. I'm half tempted to call to her, but I keep my mouth shut and watch the door knob as it finally turns. The door swings open, pulling a breeze and her scent in with it, and then she's standing there in front of me with her skinny jeans and little red velvet jacket. Her eyes sparkle in the darkness and her lips move sweetly as she murmurs.

"Damon."

I tilt my head in greeting. "Caroline."

"What are you doing here?" she asks dumbly.

I pause, giving her a pointed look. "Waiting for you."

Her lips make a tiny 'o' and she breathes out. "Here I am," she shrugs, trying to brighten her tone.

Just to make sure – and just to make her squirm – I inhale deeply before answering, "Yes. Here you are. Where did you run off to so late at night? You didn't come by the house after school." I wince at the tone of my words – I sound like a suspicious lover, ready to point a finger at what I already know. I wonder…I wonder if she knows I know.

I lean into her, watching her face, waiting for her answer, and I reach out past her and press the door shut softly. I reach down to the lock, never taking my eyes from her face, and when I click the lock home, her pulse flutters under the skin of her neck. Instead of pulling back away from her, I invade her space more, wanting to feel the vibration of her skin that I know is there because it's there in mine. She takes a step back and then another, until she can't get away and she's pressed back against the door. I trap her there, one hand on either side of her and I stare down into her eyes, watching the depth of her blue eyes open up. My sudden need for her overwhelms me; I must have her, in any way I can, and the first, the basest, seems best at this point.

Swooping in, my hips press hers back and my chest crushes against the perfect just-smaller-than-a-handful breasts. From there I dip my head and press my nose to the spot just under her ear and with my lips I tease the sensitive skin just in inch below. "Caroline," I murmur gently against her. Her taste lingers on my lips and I drag them down and then across her jaw as my hands catch hers and force them back against the door by her hips. And then it's there again, the warm spike of heat and musk and Lockwood's scent rears up and makes me snarl. The stench forces the darkness out and I glare down at her.

"You've been with the mongrel again," I point out with a growl.

Her fingers twitch in my grip but other than that, she is still, her dark blue eyes unblinking, staring up at me.

I say, "I want you to stay away from him." Her eyes narrow and I sense she is preparing for an argument. Doesn't she get it? Doesn't she _know_ that getting involved with Tyler in _any_ way will only cause danger for her and the rest of us?

Doesn't she know she's…_mine_?

"You can't tell me what to do," she breathes, but her voice waivers with uncertainty.

I think I can. I shake my head in disagreement with her declaration and bring my hands up to her face, pushing her blond waves back from her shoulders. For a moment, I'm mesmerised by her mouth, those pouty pink lips I've seen pulled and twisted with screams, laughter, and pure bloody carnage. I want her. So I tell her. And I tell her:

"You're _mine_, Caroline."

She has the audacity to snort, to flick her head back with a nervous chuckle. "That's pretty caveman, Damon, even for you."

The fact that she hasn't tried to move from where we're mashed against the door is not lost to me, nor is the way her skin is warming, her blood moving faster than it had been. Like a magnet, it pulls my blood with its song, and the touch of her hips against mine makes my balls twinge. Lust crashes over me, making me pant, making the darkness surge. It's Caroline and her blood and her body and undead soul that have made me this way. I've always had blood and carnage and mischief and mayhem, but I've been missing something from the vampire equation for a very long time. With a grunt, I get _deeper_, and wet my lips.

"Mine," I breathe across her lips. And then I kiss her.

She doesn't move at first, but a tiny sound leaves her, a whimper at the back of her throat as I press my mouth to hers, slide my tongue in slowly, and begin to claim her inch by sweet inch. And then suddenly, her sweet, hot mouth is gone and she shoves me backwards. Caught off guard, I move back, startled with her reaction.

"Stop it," she utters darkly. Then her hands go to her face, rake back through her hair, and she heaves a defeated sigh and sags back against the door.

She's upset and she's confused; I can feel everything in my blood and it's twisting hard with my emotions, making a mess of them and sucking me blindly into a maelstrom. I don't move; I won't give her the satisfaction of me backing down. "What happened?" I ask lowly, already dreading what she might say.

"Nothing," she answers, glancing up to me.

"Then you have no reason to be anywhere near him. I don't want him here. I don't want you talking to him. I don't want…"

"What about what _I_ want, Damon? Do you actually think that I want this…this…" she waves at the air between us and then screams in her frustration, hitting the door with her fists. "_What_ is this?" she screeches. And then the tears begin to pool in her eyes. "Why can't I get away from you? Why do you haunt me? You're in my dreams, my thoughts…"

"Your _blood_," I interject, cutting off her desperate ramblings. "I'm in your _blood_, Caroline, just like you're in mine, just like you're in _my_ dreams and _my_ thoughts. And if you think this is one sided, you are _sorely _mistaken."

"I want you to _leave_," she spits, her own features darkening, summoning the demon inside. "I don't _want_ you here. You don't understand – you _can't_."

Stupid little girl. "And what could there be to _possibly_ understand? Tyler Lockwood is a _werewolf_. One bite from him and you're finished – or don't you care about that?"

She shrugs, an insolent gesture that I'm familiar with. "No, maybe I _don't_," she sneers. "Maybe all I care about is that he's my friend and he's scared."

"You're a fucking _vampire_, Caroline. We don't have _friends_."

"I don't believe that," she answers evenly. And I know she's right, but I don't give her the satisfaction.

"It's dangerous."

She rolls her eyes. "_Why_ do you care?" Her voice is raising and I hold up a warning finger, pointing in the direction of her mother's room.

"Because you're all I've got at the moment."

That shut her up quickly. She stares at me, across the chasm my words have just opened up, and she blinks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"And I don't know why that is. So until I figure it out, I would appreciate it if you would keep yourself from getting killed. Don't put yourself in an unnecessary situation."

Oh, but that stubborn streak, the one that makes her such an amazing hunter, sparks in her blue eyes and she shakes her head slowly. "I won't let you stop me. Tyler is my _friend_. And I'm not going to stand by and let him suffer this all by himself just because _you_ feel like you're getting shafted."

I'd love to kill her right now. Just…wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life right out of her, but I know that's not going to cut it, really, but I can't bring myself to think of staking her. Staking a part of me – because that's what she is, and whatever Saltzman can come up with will only confirm this.

"It will be a waste," I offer loftily, turning to her bedroom window. "You, putting yourself on the line for a werewolf? It will be a waste of a perfectly good vampire. Remember that, Caroline – it's what you are." I duck onto the window sill and spare her one glance back.

"I don't need you to remind me of that," she says sadly.

"You sure about that?" I ask gently. I don't wait for her response. Instead, I glide out the window and sail down into the yard, and make my way silently into the night. She has to _learn_. She has to realize that because she is a vampire, sides will be taken – sides have _always_ been taken. She's not going to be Caroline Forbes, head cheerleader, Miss Mystic Falls, future journalist; she never will be.

**

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Caroline

It is strange and fitting that it should boil down to this in my room. After all, this was where it all began. It has only been months, but sometimes it seems like an eternity, since I was coming home from student council meetings, from cheer practice, from the Grill after studying over a basket of fries and endless lemonade. Now I sneak around at all hours, day and night, thanks to Damon, and I eat food and smile to fit in, but it's the blood that I want and the blood that I need, and fitting in seems reserved for something else other than sorority row. I'm fitting in, all right, but it's not in the way I ever thought I would. My mother never warned me about falling in with the wrong crowd. I wonder what her definition of the 'wrong crowd' might be. Elena, with her simpering smiles and sweetness, Bonnie with her manipulative mean streak and enough attitude to give a whole new meaning to the term 'witch', and Tyler, the All-American football god now thrown to the wolves all look good on paper, but take a deeper look and not everything is coming up sunshine. They were my friends, in some time and some place that we are no longer in.

This is war. This is death. This is happening right now, whether we want it to or not, and it isn't even close to being finished.

I stare at the window where Damon has left and feel a gap, a wide, yawning void that is there whenever he leaves like this. The times where we wake and fall asleep on good terms soothe, but now the door has slammed shut on whatever was open between us. I remember that first time, when Damon had found me pouting outside of the Grill and I had lured him (ha!) back to my mom's house for stolen vodka and strip blackjack because I was too drunk to remember the rules to poker. That first time, that very first time when I had to be compelled to let him bite me, but after…after I sought it out and damned Elena for making a crusade about the darkness that Damon discovered deep within. I craved it, like I crave him now, like I crave him always.

There was a connection that first time, like there is now. There always has been; it never severed, even when I thought I loved him and then hated him and I was just a silly high school girl. Damon and I will always be together, until one or the other or both are no longer. He is a vampire and so I am too. The realization is complete.

I'll never be Caroline Forbes, cheerleader, journalist, all-American girl and Miss Mystic Falls.

I am a hunter. I am a killer.

My name is Caroline Forbes and I am a vampire.


End file.
